#One shot

[midnightepiphany]

[barnesonly]

bucky coming home to you roaming around the kitchen while wearing a cute dress that makes his knees buckle like AAAAA

The door clicked softly behind him as Bucky finally stepped inside, shrugging off the weight of the day like his leather jacket. The apartment smelled like home—warm, light, familiar—and as he padded down the hallway toward the kitchen, his heart was already beating a little faster.

And then he saw you.

You were humming something under your breath, padding barefoot across the tiles in a flowy little dress that swayed with every small movement. A few strands of hair had fallen loose, catching the light, and you were so focused on stirring whatever was in that pot that you hadn’t even noticed him yet.

Bucky’s knees felt like they might actually give out.

God, you looked so… perfect. Soft and cozy and his, like you’d been plucked right out of one of his daydreams. The dress suited you in a way that made him want to drop everything, come up behind you, and never let go.

“Hey, doll,” he finally managed, voice a little lower than usual, leaning against the doorframe just to keep himself upright.

You glanced over your shoulder with a smile that lit up your entire face, and Bucky thought, not for the first time, that coming home to you was the best part of his whole damn life.

———

THAT’S HOW IMAGINE THIS UGHHSH actually need this daily 🌸

[shinoko-oshi]

Stalker Simon

There was something about watching you move in the comfort of your own skin, so at ease in your little world, that did something to Simon. It soothed him, felt familiar, even if he’d never had anything like it before.

He loved watching you after a shower, wrapped in a towel, humming under your breath as you lathered your favorited lotion onto your soft skin. You’d pick out a fresh, oversized t shirt to sleep in and a pair of fuzzy, never matching socks to go along with it.

Those were the moments Simon longed for.

Maybe he’d sit there on the toilet lid, a little awkward but content, just watching you. You’d catch him staring and laugh, calling him a big dork before holding out your hand and asking for his arm. He’d give it to you without hesitation, trying and failing to hide the soft, toothy grin tugging at his mouth. The kind he hadn’t worn since he was a kid, back when his mum was still around.

You’d rub the lotion into his arm just like you did your own, and he’d look away, pretending not to care. When really he was content. Soothed because now he smelled like you, because your hands were on him, and because you were right there.

Maybe as you tugged on your mismatched socks, he’d reach for his too, plain black ones compare to yours. And maybe, a few days later, you’d come home with new ones for him, black with little skulls on them. You’d hand them over with that cheeky grin, and he’d pull them on without complaint.

Simon loved watching you every Friday night, when you got home from work and made yourself popcorn to eat as you rewatched your favorite movies, ones you knew line by line, but never seemed to grow tire of. Even if, halfway through, you always fell asleep.

Maybe he’d wait for you to get home, popcorn already made and your favorite snacks lined up on the coffee table. He’d hug you as you walked through the door, kiss your cheek then your lips and scoop you up with a playful grunt and toss you onto the couch, earning a squeal.

You’d press play on the same movie you always did, quoting the opening lines before nestling into his side. And like always, halfway through, you’d start to nod off, head heavy on his shoulder, hand still buried in the popcorn bowl.

Maybe the TV would play on low while the rise and fall of your breathing filled the room, and Simon would just sit there for a moment, watching you like you were the most fragile, precious thing he’d ever been trusted with. Because you were.

Maybe he’d gently tug the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over you, fingers grazing your shoulder just long enough to feel the warmth of your skin. He’d consider waking you, maybe even reach for your hand but stop himself, choosing instead to sit beside you until the credits rolled and the screen went black.

Maybe he’d clean up the cups, turn off the lights, and carry you to bed if you didn’t stir. Or maybe he’d just let you sleep there, letting himself rest beside you for a bit, soaking in the kind of peace he didn’t know he could still have.

But if that night never came, if it was still far off and Simon had to be content with watching you through the cold barrier your window provided.

He could wait.

He was a patient man. And for you?

He’d wait as long as it took.

[monamedeiros12]

Not Perfect, but Yours

Joel Miller x fem!reader (one shot)

Summary: They were never official — but it still felt like heartbreak. After silence, distance, and a door finally opened, what follows is not just an apology. It’s a confession, a promise, and a night that changes everything

Warnings: Joel being horrible with feelings, swearing, fluff, discussion, SMUT (but not suuuuuper detailed), idiots in love, no use of y/n.

Words: 5.8k

A/N: Hiiiii babies!!!!! The semester is finally over 🙌🏻 so now that freedom is finally here I decided to write this one-shot that has been on my mind for a while.

Your feedback is everything to me so please let me know if you liked this one! love u love u love u!!!!

full masterlist

Joel’s been acting strange. Quieter than usual. Not answering your texts with the same warmth, the same urgency. Canceling plans at the last minute. Disappearing without explanation.

You tried to convince yourself it was nothing — but deep down, you were already bracing for the worst. Because with each passing day, it felt more and more like he was getting ready to end whatever this was.

And the worst part? You were hurt. Of course you were.

He wasn’t being honest with you. Just slowly pushing you away, piece by piece.

You had asked him before — if something was going on, just talk to you. You’d always been open about everything. Vulnerable. But clearly, he hadn’t done the same.

You met five months ago at a bar. And even though Joel had that grumpy, closed-off demeanor, the chemistry had been instant. Electric.

And somehow, he let you in — let you see parts of him you were sure most people never even got close to.

He never said it was just sex. But he never said it could be more, either. And that silence? It was slowly destroying you.

You tried — really tried — not to fall in love with him. But it turned out to be impossible.

Joel saw you in a way no one else ever had. He always wanted to please you — well, before he turned into this stranger — he looked after you. Made you feel special. Wanted. Smart. Beautiful.

His charm. That damn smirk when he teased you. His laugh. Everything about him made it harder to walk away, and easier to fall deeper.

If he had only been honest… maybe it wouldn’t have ended like this.

Today felt like the end of the road. You still had a flicker of hope when he asked you to come over. Thought maybe — just maybe — it was a sign he wanted to fix things.

And the moment you stepped inside his apartment, and he pulled you in like he’d missed you, kissed you like he needed you, undressed you like you were something precious… you believed.

You really believed things would go back to normal.

But you were naive.

After sex that left you breathless, boneless, and clinging to the high of being touched by him again, you were still lying in bed, trying to catch your breath. A small, satisfied smile tugged at your lips.

And then Joel got up. No words. Just silence.

He pulled on his pants, then his shirt, and walked out toward the kitchen. He paused for a second before leaving — his fingers brushed lightly against your arm, like a ghost of a touch, hesitant. Like he wanted to stay.

But he didn’t.

And just like that, the smile faded from your face.

You weren’t naive. You didn’t need him to be glued to your side. But Joel had always been different with you — especially after moments like that. He used to hold you close. Breathe you in. He’d help you clean up, pull your clothes back on for you, run his hands over your skin like he couldn’t quite let go.

But now? Now he was walking away. Detached.

And in that moment, you knew. No — nothing was going back to normal.

A sharp ache blooms in your chest. You try to shove it down. Because if you give in to it now, let yourself really feel it… it’ll wreck you.

You lie there for a while, in silence. His scent still lingers in the sheets, on your skin. And slowly, a decision starts to form — cold, clear, final.

This was it. One last chance. If he wouldn’t talk to you, you’d make him. Because you deserve more than this half-hearted silence. You deserve the truth — no matter what it is.

So you sit up. Clean the mess you both made. Get dressed, and then you follow him.

He’s in the kitchen, back turned, pouring coffee into a mug. You walk up behind him, but he doesn’t hear you — or maybe he does and pretends not to. You can’t tell.

And you hate this. Hate how vulnerable you feel. Hate that he’s put you in this position — where you have to fight for answers, when you have no idea what the hell is going on.

“Joel.” Your voice breaks the silence — soft, careful.

You see it immediately: the way his jaw tenses. His fingers tighten around the coffee mug for a second too long.

“Yeah?” he replies, without turning around.

“Can we talk?”

You’re doing your best to keep it calm, to not let it spiral into a fight. You just want answers. Clarity. Anything.

“Sure.” Dry. Emotionless. Like the word barely costs him breath.

You close your eyes for a moment. Take a deep breath. You already know — this won’t end well. But you push forward anyway.

“Look… I’m not here to argue. I swear I’m not. I just— I need to understand what’s going on. You’ve been distant. Not just today — for weeks. And I’ve been trying. Giving you space. Not asking for anything. But I’m tired, Joel.” Your voice comes out soft. Worn out. A quiet plea.

“I’ve been busy. That’s all.” He finally turns to you — and the look in his eyes is colder than you expected. Distant. Like you’re a stranger in his kitchen, and it hits you harder than it should.

“I don’t believe that,” you say, shaking your head. “I know it’s not just that. Please. Just be honest with me. If something’s changed… just say it. Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says flatly, avoiding your gaze.

But you see it — the subtle swallow. Like he’s holding something back, afraid of what’ll come out.

That’s what pushes you over the edge.

“Oh, yes, there is.” Your tone sharpens.

“Because you’ve been treating me like your girlfriend for months — and now you call me over, fuck me, and won’t even look at me afterward? What am I now? Some kind of personal whore you just pull out of the drawer when you feel like it?”

That gets him. His jaw clenches hard. His eyes flash with something sharp — hurt, maybe. But he covers it quickly with anger, like you’re the one being unreasonable.

“It ain’t like that,” he mutters, voice flat. But there’s something cracking underneath.

“No?” you snap, arms crossing. “Then what is it, Joel? Because I’m done guessing.”

He shakes his head, eyes dropping to the floor like it might offer him an escape. His shoulders sag. He looks like he wants to vanish. Like this is the last place he wants to be.

And that — that hurts more than anything he could say. 

“You’re being dramatic,” he mutters, still refusing to meet your eyes.

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

You take a step back. Staring at him like you’re seeing a stranger in his skin.

“Wow,” you whisper. “Okay.”

The words hit something in him. His posture shifts — tense, rigid. He finally looks at you, but it doesn’t bring you comfort. It only makes everything worse.

“Dramatic, huh?” Your voice comes out weaker than you’d like, but you don’t retreat. You hold your ground. “Because god forbid I want to understand what the fuck is going on with the guy I’ve been seeing for months.”

He’s facing you now. And somehow, the distance between you feels wider than ever.

“You’ve been treating me like I don’t mean a thing to you. Like I just stopped mattering. And it’s all out of nowhere. Unless—” You pause. Searching his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You haven’t done anything wrong.” he whispers, leaving his cup on the counter. He finally meets your gaze, and for a second, you see something breaking behind those brown eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And when I try to genuinely understand what is going on with you, so WE can TRY to fix it, you say it’s drama? Well, treating me like shit and pushing me away after everything we’ve been through, when I’ve done nothing except ask you to be truthful to me? That’s just fucking cruel, Joel.” 

He flinches at that. Closes his eyes. And when he opens them again, you see it.

The end.

It’s there, sitting between you, heavy and silent.

“I should’ve left the first time you made me feel small,” you breathe. “But I didn’t. Because I believed in you. I believed in this.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going. “Guess that was my mistake.”

“Look, can we just—” He cuts himself off when he sees the disappointment in your eyes. 

You can’t even put into words what you’re feeling. Your heart hurts more than it should, and you care more than you planned. 

A single stubborn tear falls from your eye, and you wipe it away quickly, like you were embarrassed of crying in front of him, like he didn’t deserve any of your suffering when he clearly didn’t care. 

And it is in that moment that you are able to see something flicking in his eyes. Regret? Guilt? You’re not sure, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

You turn around without another word. Grab the few things you left on his couch.

“All this time, I kept waiting for you to say something…” You pause at the door, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I see now — the silence was the message.”

You open the door.

“Wait—” he calls your name, but it’s too late.

You’re already gone.

In the hallway, you focus on breathing. On keeping yourself calm. You just need to hold it together until you get home. Then you can fall apart properly.

As you wait for the elevator, the weight of the last few months crashes over you. How good it was, how good HE was with YOU. 

You really thought this could lead to something. Joel made you feel things no one else ever could. He seemed to care so much about you, that you weren’t even worried about asking him what you both were, where that relationship would go. You just trusted him. Like a fool. 

The elevator doors open.

You step inside.

And as the memories reel in your mind like a film you can’t shut off, you try — really try — to bury every last feeling.

But that’s easier said than done.

The first days are hard. Very hard.

You wake up with the weight of it already sitting on your chest — the silence, the absence, the way everything feels a little off. A little colder. Your body still aches in places only he used to touch, and now you ache for something else entirely: clarity. Closure. Peace.

And you catch yourself getting angry more times than you can count. Angry at yourself for hurting this much over someone who wasn’t even your boyfriend — not officially, at least. Angry because, deep down, a part of you still hoped. Still waited. For a text. A call. Something.

But nothing ever comes.

And when the silence drags for yet another day, you spiral. You cry in the shower. Stare at your phone like it betrayed you. You're mad at him — but you’re furious at yourself. Because after everything, after all the ways he pushed you away, it still hurts. And that fact alone makes you feel like you’ve lost twice: once to him, and once to your own hope.

On the fourth day, your best friend practically drags you out of the house for lunch. You go. Begrudgingly. But once you’re sitting at that restaurant, sunlight on your skin, the clinking of silverware and soft chatter around you, something eases. It’s the first breath of fresh air you’ve taken in days.

You laugh. Not a full laugh — not the kind that reaches your soul — but it’s something, and for a moment, you remember there’s life outside of this grief. Outside of him.

But the next day… reality returns.

While digging through your wardrobe for something to wear, your fingers brush against soft cotton — and there it is. His shirt. Left behind like a ghost, folded like he might still come back for it.

You freeze. Hold it in your hands. And the moment you lift it to your face, the scent hits you. Him. Still clinging to the fabric like a cruel reminder. And just like that, the memories flood in — his arms around you, his voice in your ear, the way he used to look at you like you were the only thing that made sense.

The second week arrives. You tell yourself things are better.

You get up. You work. You smile when you have to. You lie.

Every time your heart stings, you swallow it down. Every time you hear a song that reminds you of him, you skip it. Every time your phone lights up, you feel your stomach turn, hoping it’s him — then hating yourself when it’s not.

You try to delete his number. You really do, but your finger hovers over it, and you just… can’t. It feels too final. Too real.

So you leave it there, like some masochistic lifeline. A symbol of the part of you that’s still waiting. Even if the rest of you know better.

On a Wednesday night, after a long, exhausting day at work, you had just stepped out of a hot shower when a knock echoed through your apartment.

You didn’t think much of it — probably your sweet neighbor bringing over dessert again, like she always did when she had leftovers and too much time on her hands.

So when you opened the door and saw him standing there — hand on the wall, eyes already on you — your entire body froze.

“Joel,” you breathe, barely above a whisper. Your heart slams in your chest, hard and loud like it’s trying to warn you. Or betray you.

He straightens up when he sees you. There’s something in his eyes — surprise, maybe. Or hesitation. Like even he can’t believe you opened the door.

“Hi,” he says quietly, voice rough. “Can I come in?”

You don’t move. You stand barefoot in your doorway, damp hair clinging to your neck, skin still warm from the shower — and colder now that he’s here.

Everything in you wants to say yes. To let him in. But fear anchors you to the floor.

You don’t know if your heart can take another hit. And normally, you’d swear Joel wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. But after the way he let things fall apart without a word, after the way he looked at you that night… you’re not sure of anything anymore.

He seems to sense it — the hesitation, the weight. And his hands come up in instinctive surrender.

“I just came to talk,” he says softly. “I promise.”

Your eyes don’t leave his. You search his face for any sign of deceit, any flicker of the man who shut you down and pushed you away. And for a second, all you see is regret.

You don’t move. The silence stretches.

“Now you want to talk?” you finally ask, arms crossed, a bitter frown on your lips.

“I know.” His voice cracks just slightly. “I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve said something. I just… I need to explain. Please. Let me try.”

There’s hope in his voice — not loud, not desperate, but there. It breaks something in you.

So despite everything, despite the ache still pulsing in your chest, you take a single step back.

And he walks in.

He looks around like he’s never stepped foot inside before — like this place, once so familiar, now feels like uncharted territory. You just watch him, saying nothing, as his eyes take in every corner of the room like it holds answers.

When his gaze finds yours again, you glance toward the couch. A silent signal. He understands, wordlessly walking over and sitting on the left side.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stares at you — really looks at you. And you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before. Not even close.

The dim light from the kitchen lamp falls softly over his face, and now you can see it — all of it. The weariness in his eyes. The dark circles under them. The slump of his shoulders. He looks older somehow. Smaller. Like the weight of something invisible has been pressing down on him for weeks.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he murmurs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

You stay silent, settling into the right side of the couch, keeping a careful distance. You take a slow, steadying breath, but you don’t say a word.

He glances at you. “I need you to understand this isn’t easy for me.”

“And I need you to understand that none of this has been easy for me either, Joel,” you reply — calm, but cold. There’s no anger behind your voice anymore, just truth. You’re not going to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. You’re not going to hide how he made you feel.

His eyes drop to his hands, fidgeting in his lap like they don’t know what to do. Like he’s holding back something big.

“I panicked,” he says quietly. “I panicked because you made me feel something I’ve never felt before.”

That makes your breath catch. Just for a second. But you hold your ground.

He looks up at you again, and there’s something raw behind his eyes now.

“Do you remember the other week—when I showed up after your shift? No warning, just said we should get dinner?”

Of course you remember. Monday night. You’d been dragging your feet all day, exhausted, convinced you’d just crash at home. Especially since he’d told you he’d be working late.

“Yes,” you say, cautious. “I remember.”

His voice softens, but the words feel heavy. “When you saw me, your whole face lit up. You came running. You hugged me so tight and whispered, ‘I needed this.’”

Your eyes flicker down. You remember it, too — the way it felt to see him waiting outside, leaning against his truck like something out of a daydream.

“I told you we were just going to that small diner down the street,” he continues, his eyes far away now. “And you just smiled like I’d said we were flying to fucking Paris. You kissed me and said, ‘Perfect.’ Like it was the best thing in the world.”

It was. To you, it really was.

But you still don’t understand why that’s the thing he’s bringing up. Why that moment.

He exhales shakily. “Right then, something hit me so hard I almost couldn’t breathe. I was standing there thinking, What the hell am I doing? What the fuck am I doing with her? She’s—”

He stops, swallows hard. His hands clench in his lap.

“She’s starting to mean everything.”

Your heart squeezes.

“That made me go crazy,” he says, voice starting to fray. “It was such a foreign feeling that I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know where to put it. And the problem was never you.”He pauses for a few seconds, breathing hard through his nose. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, more broken. “The truth is… in my head, I was never good enough for you. How could I be? I’m the guy who ruins things. Who pushes people away. Who lets people down.”

 His eyes find yours then, and you can see the cracks in him. The guilt. The fear.

“And that day in my apartment… when I saw how sad you looked — how disappointed you were — I knew it would happen eventually. I’d hurt you. I’d let you down. And I just… I couldn’t live with that, sweetheart. I couldn’t live with being the reason you looked that way again.”

“Joel…” you whisper, throat tight. You don’t even know what you're trying to say — the words get lost somewhere between your chest and your mouth.

But he just shakes his head slowly, like he's still trying to confess it all before he loses the nerve.

“These past days?” he continues. “I didn’t even recognize myself. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat right. I didn’t think about anything but you. You were in every corner of my mind. Every thought, every second. I’d spend hours planning what I’d say to win you back… only to give up again because of fear. Because I was too damn scared I’d hurt you worse.”

He swallows thickly, like the words are knives in his throat. “I would rather suffer for a hundred years than be the reason you cry again.”

You try to speak. Try to respond. But nothing comes out. Your mouth opens, but the silence is louder than anything you could say. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, It’s like falling from an incredible height and getting stuck in that darkness between waking up and passing out completely

He looks at you and his voice turns soft. Honest. Devastating. “I was too damn stupid to see it clearly back then. But the night we met… I knew there was something about you. The second I saw you in that bar, something in me changed. But it was your smile that ruined me. That smile made me realize it stopped being just a night out with a pretty girl a long time ago.”  His hand tightens on his knee. “I was falling for you. And that ache in my chest — that thing I couldn’t name — the one that left me breathless every time I looked at you… That was love.”

He looks at you now, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come right away. You stare at him — really look at him — searching for any trace of lies. But you find none. It’s just pure, raw sincerity.

Your heart pounds in your chest, because deep down, even though he hurt you, you were too far gone to ignore what he just said.

His words mean more than you can explain. They change everything. They are everything. But you’re not naive. You need to know if he truly means it.

“I needed to hear that two weeks ago, Joel. Before all the nights I spent wondering why I wasn’t enough.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but you gently shake your head.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel worse. I’m saying it because it did hurt, Joel. More than I ever thought it would. Because you let me believe I imagined everything we shared. You left like it meant nothing.”

You lean in slightly, just enough to show you’re not shutting him out — but not enough to let him think this is easy.

“So if you’re here now… if you’re saying all this because you mean it — then I need you to really mean it. Because I can’t go through that again. I can’t feel all those things just for you to throw it away.”

Joel exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since the moment you opened the door. His voice comes out low and rough — like it hurts to say aloud.

“The second you walked out of my apartment, I wanted to run after you.”

He looks at you, eyes tight with regret.

“I wanted to fall to my knees and beg you to stay. To forgive me. To let me fix it right then and there.” He swallows hard. “But I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing. I didn’t want to pull you back into something if I couldn’t be what you needed. I knew I had to get my head straight first — not for me. For you. So I wouldn’t make it worse. I wanted to call. I almost did, a hundred times. But I knew I had to show up when I was sure. When I could stand in front of you and tell you I’m not going anywhere.”

He runs a hand down his face, like he’s searching for the right words — not perfect ones, just the honest ones.

“I’m here now. And I meant every damn word that left my mouth.” He looks at you, unsure. “But I’ve gotta say… I’m not perfect.”

There’s something between guilt and devotion shining in his eyes.

“I mess up. I get quiet when I shouldn’t. I carry things I don’t always know how to talk about.” His voice softens. “But you can be sure of one thing: I’ll do everything I can — everything I have — to make you happy.”

And that’s all you needed to hear. Because you feel the honesty in every word. In every breath.

“Joel,” you whisper, eyes shining, “I didn’t fall in love with some perfect version of you. I fell for you. All of you.”

He blinks, frozen in place.

“Even when you’re grumpy and impossible to read — it was still you. The way you looked at me like I mattered. The way you listened when no one else ever did. The way you felt like home when everything else felt like noise.” you make a pause, just staring at him for a few seconds before you add “You don’t have to be perfect. I just need you here. With me. One step at a time. And I swear — everything else, we’ll figure it out.”

Joel’s eyes soften, the hard edge in him finally melting away.

For a moment, he just stays there, absorbing your words like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

Then, almost hesitantly, he reaches out — fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle but certain.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, voice low, barely more than a whisper. “But if you’ll have me… I swear I’m gonna spend every day trying to be better. For you. For us.”

You take a slow breath, feeling your walls crumble even more.

When he finally reaches you — when his fingers graze your lip — it’s like something inside you snaps back into place. It’s the first time in days that the world feels like it’s spinning in the right direction again. Like the chaos paused just long enough for you to breathe.

Your chest tightens, not with fear, but with the overwhelming relief of finally.

He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. It starts slow, like you’re tasting each other for the first time all over again — but it soon escalates.

There’s no hesitation in it — only hunger, and relief, and something deeper that shakes you to the core.

His hands frame your face gently, but the kiss itself is anything but gentle. It’s desperate. Messy. Real. Like the only way he knows how to say everything he couldn’t before is with his mouth pressed to yours, again and again. And you melt into it like your body’s been waiting for this exact moment to breathe.

You gasp softly against his lips, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the weight of him — the familiar scrape of his beard against your skin, the low sound he makes in his throat when you pull him closer.

God, you missed this. You missed him. The way your lips fit. The way the world slips away when he’s near.

You climb onto his lap without thinking — your body knows the way. It’s not the first time. But somehow, it feels like it is. There’s something different now. Something more.

His hands settle at your waist, and he exhales like he’s finally home.

He leans his forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded but open, drinking you in like he’s scared to blink.

“You feel like mine,” he murmurs, voice rough, chest rising and falling against yours.

You kiss him again before you can reply — because that’s the only answer that makes sense.

You don’t even realize you’re trembling until his hands steady you.

Still on his lap, your legs wrapped around him, you can feel the heat rising between your bodies — but it’s not just lust. It’s everything.

Every night you spent alone. Every word that wasn’t said. Every ache you tried to silence.

Joel runs his hands up your back, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing you.

Then he lifts his eyes to meet yours — and whatever he sees there makes his jaw clench, just for a second.

He shifts beneath you, steadying his grip around your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs — but he’s already pulling you closer.

And then, without another word, he rises to his feet with you in his arms.

Your breath hitches.

His hold is firm, protective — but there’s something almost fragile in the way he looks at you as he carries you down the hall. Like you’re precious. Like he knows he almost lost this, and won’t take a second of it for granted.

You bury your face in the curve of his neck, breathing him in — the scent you missed, the warmth, the quiet sound of his heartbeat, fast but steady.

Just like yours.

When he enters the room, everything slows down.

Joel sets you down on the edge of the bed, and for a long second, neither of you moves. He just stands there, looking at you. Not at your body — at you.

“I missed you,” you whisper, voice trembling.

His hand finds your cheek. “I missed you so bad it hurt.”

He leans in again, slower this time. His kiss is softer now, but deeper — like he’s pouring every ounce of regret and love into it.

His hands find the hem of your shirt. He pauses.

“Can I?”

You nod.

He undresses you like a prayer — slow, careful, fingers tracing skin like it’s sacred. Each layer peeled away feels like another wall crumbling between you.

When you’re finally bare in front of him, he doesn’t speak. He just exhales, long and shaky, and lets his forehead fall to your shoulder.

“God,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re beautiful.”

And when you reach for him, fingers trembling slightly, he lets you undress him too — piece by piece — until there’s nothing left but the truth between you.

No more fear. No more silence. Just skin, and breath, and love that’s waited long enough.

He lays you down with such care that it nearly undoes you.

Joel hovers over you, eyes dark but soft — and for a moment, he just looks. No rush. No pressure. Just that quiet awe, with a look in his eyes that says "I can't believe you’re really here. That you let me back in."

You reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, fingers brushing his cheek, and the way he leans into your touch makes your chest ache.

“Joel,” you whisper, voice raw. “I’m here.”

His mouth captures yours again like he wants to kiss you until you forget every second he was gone. Until all that’s left is this: the warmth of his body, the weight of his love.

His hands roam gently down your sides, mapping every inch. Your hips shift instinctively beneath him, inviting, but he doesn’t rush. He takes his time. Pressing his lips to your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest — leaving a trail of warmth and unspoken promises.

“I need you,” you breathe, barely audible.

“You have me,” he answers against your skin, his voice hoarse, honest. “You’ve always had me.”

He parts your legs with quiet confidence, sliding between them as if it’s where he belongs — and it is. Every part of you molds to him like you were made for this, for him. And when he finally sinks into you, slowly, fully, you both gasp.

There’s no sharpness. No urgency.

Only depth.

A kind of closeness you can feel in your soul — something being healed in the quiet rhythm of your bodies moving together. He holds your gaze the whole time, one hand laced with yours, the other cradling your face as if to anchor you both.

You whisper his name like it’s sacred. And he says yours like it’s salvation.

Nothing else exists. No past. No doubts. Just the press of skin, the soft creak of the mattress, the wet sounds of your love unfolding in the dark. His lips find yours between every breath 

And when you start to fall apart beneath him — thighs trembling, back arching — he doesn’t let go. He holds you through it, whispering things you’ll never forget.

“That’s it, baby… I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

And when he comes undone, it’s with his forehead pressed to yours, breathing your name like a prayer.

The room is quiet — but not empty.

His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, fingers trailing lazy patterns down your spine. Tangled sheets, warm skin, the air still humming with what just happened.

There’s a calm between you now. A softness.

You stay like that for a while, neither of you rushing the silence. You just breathe him in, grounded by the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear. And maybe that’s all you need.

Joel is the first to speak, voice low and warm with sleep, the echo of a smile threading through it.

“I ever tell you how beautiful you look right after you ruin me?”

You laugh, eyes still closed, and nuzzle deeper into the curve of his neck.

“No,” you murmur, your lips brushing his skin. “But you can start telling me every day.”

He shifts just enough to look at you, his hand lifting to tuck your hair gently behind your ear. And the way he looks at you — it’s not just tender. It’s certain.

“I mean it,” he says, voice soft. “You make me better, without ever asking me to change. You just… see me. And I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. But I would’ve waited another lifetime just to find my way back to you.”

The words settle deep, and this time, they don’t scare you. You don’t flinch. You just breathe them in.

You reach up and rest your hand over his heart, feeling it beat steady beneath your palm.

“Then stay here,” you whisper. “Where you belong.”

He leans in and kisses you — slow, unrushed. It’s not a question or a promise. It’s a homecoming.

And when he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, you both smile.

Not because everything’s perfect. But because it’s real.

And this time, you know — whatever comes next, you’re not going through it alone.

Not anymore.

[forestgreenwhore]

perfect omg

Save Me Tonight | b.b 𐙚˙⋆.˚

Pairing | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Assistant!Reader 

Summary | Congressman James Barnes is your boss. When you begin to develop strong feelings for him, you decide to take a practical approach and download Tinder. However, when your date takes a turn for the worse, you find yourself desperately hoping for someone—anyone—to come to your rescue. Bucky will always be there to save you.

Warnings/tags | Between the events of CA:BNW and Thunderbolts*, fluff, slow-burn, hurt/comfort, yearning, cursing, sexual harassment (not by Bucky), angst, panic attack, nsfw, MDNI (18+), kissing, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, low-key switch!Bucky, protective!Bucky, breast play, fingering, save a horse; ride Bucky, mentions of violence, injuries, Bucky would let the world burn for Reader, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 17.8k

A/N | Hey, lovelies. Thank you for all the support on my last fic and 160 followers!! It motivated me to write this one, and I’m pretty proud of it. To reiterate, this is only my second fanfiction, so bear with me, I’m still learning. There’s a little something extra at the end because I’m a sucker for protective Bucky. Sorry in advance for it being so lengthy. Blame my fingers for typing away without consequence. (Hahaha, you’ll never stop me ~ my fingers) Hope you enjoy, and if you did, let me know or feel free to give any feedback:))

You were falling.

No, you were clearly standing upright, but it felt like you were falling. Whenever you looked at him, you felt like the rug was being ripped out from under you.

Him being your boss, Congressman James Barnes. He’s so handsome in a rugged, but polished way. 

Like the white button-up he’s in now. Sure, it’s sophisticated, but he has his grey suit jacket off, draped over the back of his chair. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing a bit of his forearms. A few of his top buttons are undone, leaving an immaculate view of his collarbone. That and his five o’clock shadow leave a perfect mix of rugged and polished.

The scent of his cologne is filling your nostrils—oak, amber, and lavender. It’s making your head spin. You feel crazy. You should not be breathing in your boss’s scent or staring at him like you are now.

Bucky is leaning over his desk, focused on a document. He’s chewing on the end of a pen with a furrowed brow, as if the papers had personally offended him.

You let yourself take him in for a few more seconds before you step into his office. You enter with a soft knock on his door.

”I thought I told you that’s bad for your teeth. And, if you keep scrunching your eyebrows like that, you’ll get wrinkles.” You tease, your voice is light and full of warmth.

Bucky’s eyes shoot up immediately. He gapes at you momentarily before taking the pen out of his mouth and relaxing his face. He snorts and rolls his eyes, but you can see the hint of amusement in his expression. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Always tellin’ me what to do.” 

“Maybe you’ll finally look your age if you get wrinkles.” You bite your lip to suppress a giggle.

Bucky shakes his head, but the corner of his lip lifts. “You’re hilarious.” His tone is laced heavily with sarcasm.

“Thank you,” you bow, your arm over your stomach as you bend. “I’ll be here all week.”

“Not if I fire you.” He tilts his head, smirking.

Your jaw drops in faux shock as you cross the room to his desk. You let out a soft laugh. “Smooth, Barnes.”

He swivels in his chair to face you; it’s evident he’s enjoying the banter. Bucky leans back in his seat, elbow on his armrest with his head propped in his hand. Fuck, he’s sexy.

You gesture to the document on his desk as your face goes serious. “If that’s stressing you out, take a break.”

He waves you off. “Nah, I’m alright. Besides, isn’t that what I’m doin’?” Bucky winks at you. Winks at you! What, is he trying to kill you? 

After a beat, you clear your throat and nervously grin. Bucky motions to you as he speaks. “What’d you need, darlin’?” 

You honestly forgot why you were even here, but you glance down at the packet in your hand, and it all comes flooding back. 

“You’re going to hate me.” Your expression turns apologetic. “But I need you to read this over and sign it.” You sheepishly hand him the packet.

”I could never hate you.” He grabs the papers, and your fingers brush. You feel sparks across your flesh. It’s like tiny fireworks coursing through your veins, threatening to reach your pounding heart. You haven’t let go yet, relishing in the bit of contact. 

You snap out of your daze and release them. Your cheeks warm, and you hope he can’t see the slight flush crawling up your face. You tuck a loose strand of hair that has fallen from your bun behind your ear. 

Bucky’s jaw sets as he places the packet off to the side. He coughs into his fist and locks eyes with you. “Consider it done. I’ll leave it on your desk before I go home.” 

“Perfect!” You force your voice up an octave to distract from your embarrassment. “Sorry, I know you have a lot on your plate.” 

“All good, it’s a part of my job.” 

“Yeah,” You cross your arms over your chest. “But you work too hard. Take a break.”

He arches a brow, trying to keep a straight face, but fails miserably. “Like I said, always tellin’ me what to do.” Bucky huffs air through his nose. “I could say the same for you.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to deflect your concern. “I work a normal amount, and my break is in five, so don’t worry about me.”

”I’m always worried about you.” Bucky’s voice softens.

You can’t hear anything over your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Does he realize how those words affect you? You could die happy knowing you‘re even a thought on Bucky’s mind.

He sits up in his seat and continues. “When was the last time you went home on time and didn’t stay after hours?”

”I do go home on time.” Your voice squeaks; you’re lying.

Bucky lets out a dry laugh. “You’re not foolin’ me, doll.”

”Fine, if I promise to leave on time, you have to promise you’ll take a break.”

He contemplates your words and then gives you a stiff nod. “Okay, I promise.”

You grin as you stick out your pinky. He stares at you with a perplexed expression. “What’re you doin’?” 

You let out a deep sigh. “Pinky promise me.”

Bucky‘s eyebrows knit together. “I’m not twelve.”

You give him an unimpressed look. ”You’re right, you’re a hundred and something years old. Now give me your damn pinky.” 

He grunts, glaring at the ceiling as if it were the one to make him do this. He eventually concedes and interlocks his pinky with yours. 

Your fingers tingle again at his touch. You feel like a touch-starved puppy who’s finally getting some attention. If only both of his hands were on you, holding you by your waist and pulling you in to put his lips against yours-

You mentally punch yourself, so that thought doesn’t go any further. Maybe you need to get laid. Then, all these feelings for your boss will go away. This relationship is strictly professional, so you might want to find something to keep your mind off the idea of it becoming more. 

You straighten, beaming at him. You pull your hand away and turn on your heels to stride toward the door.

When you exit his office, you grab the handle, ready to close the door behind you. Before you do, you peek your head in. “Have a nice break.”

“Yeah, you too,” Bucky grumbles.

On your way back to your desk, you're grinning from ear to ear like an idiot. This is ridiculous. You need a distraction. You pull your phone out of your blazer and download Tinder.

This should be fun.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Bzz. Bzz.

Bucky glances at your phone resting on his desk before refocusing on his laptop to determine where he left off with his email. Just as he gets his train of thought back-

Bzz. Bzz.

He takes a steady breath in and releases it. Why is he upset over a simple notification? He wonders why you didn’t take it with you to the bathroom. Bucky sighs and begins typing away on his laptop again.

Bzz. Bzz.

What the fuck? How many notifications can you get in a minute? He nearly wants to reach over and grab it to see, but he won’t snoop into your business. That’s unprofessional.

Bzz. Bzz.

Bucky groans, rubbing at his eyes as he inclines back in his chair. How can he get any work done with that thing buzzing on his desk? He hears your heels clack against the wood floor as you enter his office.

“You okay, sir?” Your pretty voice drifts through the air like a bird’s song.

Bucky’s gaze darts to you, and he gestures to your phone. “Can you get that thing under control? And I told you, stop calling me that.” His voice comes out harsher than he intended.

You raise your hands in surrender. “I’ll get right to that, grumpy.” 

You grab your phone off the desk, glance at it, and press a button on the side. Then, you slide it into the pocket of your trousers before perching on the seat across from him.

“Fuck,” he grunts under his breath, massaging his temples. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep much last night, but that’s no excuse.”

You shrug and give him a soft smile. “It’s alright, I can handle your grumpy ass.” You motion to your pocket. “I’m sorry, I must have forgotten to silence my phone this morning.”

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Bucky scoots forward, getting back to his email. His fingers are on the keys, but his mind is elsewhere. 

“What was that all about anyway?” He points to your pocket.

You cross one leg over the other, settling into the chair. “Oh, nothing. It’s just this guy I’ve been talking to.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and he has to force his face to remain blank. He shouldn’t be jealous. He’s not jealous. You're his assistant, nothing more. You deserve to have a life outside of work, outside of him. Anyone would be lucky to have you.

Lucky fucking bastard.

“Yeah? What’s his name?” Bucky lightens his tone as if it doesn’t bother him, which it doesn’t. He doesn’t care about his name, but he’ll try for your sake. 

“Uh…Derek.” You mutter.

His posture goes rigid. He attempts to tease you, so you don’t notice. “What’s uh…Derek like?” 

You giggle, and it’s the sweetest sound. Like a soft patter of rain against a window. “I don’t know, I guess he's nice.”

”You guess? Haven’t you been on a date with him yet?” Bucky inquires.

This is entirely unprofessional. He shouldn’t be asking about your relationship status. He’s just trying to get to know you, right? It’s normal for bosses to ask their employees about their lives. 

He doesn’t see you that way, though. He’d much rather label you as his equal. You do as much work as he does, if not more. He knows he could never do this job without you.

You let out a long sigh, drawing him away from his brain's constant back and forth. “No, our first date is tomorrow.”

Bucky tilts his head. “Tomorrow’s the gala, darlin’. I kinda need you there.” 

If you asked for a day off, he would be more than happy to give it to you. However, he wants to be selfish. You are the highlight of his evenings at those damn events. Whenever he feels anxious or overwhelmed by all the rich bastards around him, he seeks comfort in your company.

“I know, that’s why I invited him as my plus one. It completely slipped my mind. I should have asked you earlier this week.”

It’s not the best situation, but you’re still going with him. He hates the thought of you being around another man all night, but he’ll deal with it because it’s necessary. This is a professional relationship, and he has to accept that, even though he wishes it could be something more.

Bucky’s silent, so you continue. “I just didn’t want to be alone all night. I always appreciate it when you come over to check on me, but you shouldn’t have to feel obligated to.” He opens his mouth to interrupt you, but you talk right over him.

“I thought it would be easier this way. You can focus on the political side of things, and I can keep tabs from a distance like we always do, but instead, I’ll have someone to keep me company.” 

You’re rambling, your words spilling out like water from a faucet. You’re bouncing your leg and picking at your nails—clear signs of anxiety. He recognizes these behaviors all too well, although his own anxiety manifests as a silent, gnawing feeling. In contrast, yours feels like a wildfire, all-consuming and intense.

“Doll-” Bucky tries to cut you off, to ease the tension out of your body, but your mouth is moving a mile a minute.

“Gosh, what was I thinking? It’s a dumb idea and entirely unprofessional. I’ll cancel and reschedule our date for another time.” Your gaze has shifted to a point on the wall, as if you’re dissociating. 

He stands up from his chair and drops down to one knee in front of you. You still don’t notice his existence as you keep chatting away.

“It’s not that I hate galas, I like them, but it’s easier around someone. I don’t even have to talk to them just to be near them-” You stop suddenly when Bucky places his hand on your restless leg, halting its movement.

“Hey, darlin’.” Bucky’s voice is gentle, calmly trying to pull you out of your trance. His thumb strokes your knee over the fabric of your pants. Your wide eyes focus on him, and your breathing becomes erratic.

“You’re having a panic attack. Can you breathe with me for a second?” He demonstrates breathing in and then releasing slowly. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Do it with me now.”

You follow his lead, breathing deeply into your nose and releasing a long breath out of your mouth.

”Good, do that a couple more times with me.” Bucky coaxes. You obey his instruction, slowing your breathing down.

Once he knows that you can breathe easier, he speaks again. “Can you tell me five things you can see?”

”Huh?” You look utterly confused.

”It’s a trick I learned in therapy. Indulge me.” Bucky continues to gently massage your knee with soothing patterns.

You give him a tight nod. Your eyes begin wandering around the room. “Uh…your laptop, that little white cat figurine I bought you—Alpine.”

Bucky snorts; he really loves that figurine. One day, early in his term, you were discussing pets. You asked him if he would ever consider having a pet, and he replied that he couldn’t because he’s too busy. Curious about his preferences, you asked what type of pet he would choose if he had the time, and he mentioned that he liked cats. That’s how the cat figurine came to be. Of course, you were the one who named it.

”That’s two. Give me three more.”

Your attention flicks back to Bucky, and he notices how drained you look. “Your tie has blue stars on it.” 

You lock eyes with him, and a faint smile appears on your lips. "It matches your eyes, though yours are the perfect shade of blue. That color is rare; I don't think I've seen it anywhere else."

Bucky swears that his heart skips a beat. He doesn’t think he’s ever received a compliment quite like that before. He decides he only wants you to compliment him from now on.

He clears his throat when he realizes he stared at you for too long. “One more, doll.”

You lift your gaze again, searching for something in his office. “That dumbass painting.” You point to the wall, and Bucky pivots to see. 

You’re referring to the painting with dogs around a table playing poker. He chuckles, scanning your face as if your thoughts are written there and he’s trying to read them.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bucky sounds offended, but he’s suppressing a smirk.

”It doesn’t fit your aesthetic.”

“My aesthetic?” The word feels foreign on his tongue, as if he were never meant to say it.

You clarify, your hands motioning to the room around you. “Your style.”

He no longer tries to hide his amusement, grinning like you are the most interesting thing in the world. “And, what is my style, doll?”

“Dark, mysterious, clean, and you’re a minimalist.” You express it as though it’s obvious, and he can’t deny your description.

”Huh, I guess I’ll remove it then. I didn’t realize you had such disdain for dogs playin’ poker.”

”I don’t, it’s cute,” you insist. “And, don’t take it down. You put it there, and it’s your office.”

“Nope, it’s already settled.” Bucky rises from his kneeling position with a grunt. “I’m removin’ it. I didn’t put it there anyway. It was here before I became a congressman.”

Bucky grabs the pitcher of water off his desk and pours it into one of the stacked plastic cups beside it. He sits in the chair beside you and hands you the water.

“Drink.” He orders, but his voice is soft.

“Now you’re telling me what to do.” You tease, lifting the cup to your lips and gulping down the refreshing liquid.

He ignores your comment and presses on. “Wanna tell me what happened to make you have a panic attack? Was it somethin’ I said?”

“No,” Your shoulders slump forward as you release a breath. You set the empty cup down on his desk before speaking again. “It was the silence. I immediately thought you were angry with me when you didn’t say anything.”

“Have I given you any reason to believe I’d be mad at you?” It’s a sincere question. You’re the only person he genuinely cares about protecting. If you think he’s upset with you, then he’s not fulfilling his role.

You shake your head, and it instantly puts his worries to rest. Bucky clasps his hands together and continues. “I’m okay with the idea of you bringin’ a plus one, I just wish you had told me-” 

You open your mouth to speak, but Bucky raises a hand to signal that he isn't finished. “I wish you had told me you don’t like being alone.”

You furrow your brow, surprised by his unexpected response. You bite your lip, searching for the right words to express your feelings.

“I’m not your responsibility.” You murmur. There’s no malice behind your words, just a woman who’s done things on your own for far too long and doesn’t want to ask for help.

“No, you’re not.” Bucky begins. “But we’re a team, and if secrets exist between us, this doesn’t work.”

He’s such a hypocrite. He’s holding back vital information from you. Bucky likes you, and no one can pry that knowledge from him. Feelings are fleeting; whatever he feels towards you will fade eventually. Right?

You smile sweetly, your eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s like the sun has entered the room. You’re bright and blinding. You’ll destroy him from the inside out if he looks for too long. 

He doesn’t mind the idea of that, though. He was yours to take apart anyway. How can he move on when you look like that, and you make him feel like this?

“You’re right. No more secrets.”

“Damn right, I’m always right.” His expression is all smug, which prompts you to roll your eyes and giggle, but it seems somewhat frail.

Bucky gets up from his spot. “You should go home. I got it from here.”

You stand to meet his eyes, defiance etched on your face. “No, I’m fine. I was going to help you-”

He cuts you off. "If you want to help me, go home. Get some rest, darlin’. I’ll see you at the gala, and you can introduce me to uh…Derek.”

You snort, shaking your head. “You are not making that a thing.”

“Oh, I’m definitely making that a thing.” Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “Now, go before I fire you.”

You narrow your gaze. “Fine, but you can’t keep threatening to fire me when it’s convenient for you.”

“Nah, I like seein’ the look on your face every time I say it.” His smirk is wide and arrogant. You glare at him in response, and it’s adorable.

He tips his head in the direction of the door. “Do you need a ride home?”

Your expression softens. “No, I’ll manage.” He gives you a stiff nod.

You amble towards the door, but pause, peeking over your shoulder. “Thank you, Barnes. For everything.”

Bucky staggers slightly. He would do anything for you. He doesn’t need a thank you in return, but it sounds too good coming from your lips. He’s staring at you like a damn fool, undoubtedly with hearts in his eyes.

”Of course, doll.” He mumbles. You hum and proceed forward, stepping out of the door and out of Bucky’s view.

As soon as you leave, he flops back down in the chair. He lets out a long sigh, metal hand running down his features. 

How will he manage a whole night with another man's arm around you? 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You’re leaning against the bar, glass in hand, and patiently waiting. 

No, pacing by the bar and fixing your hair for the tenth time tonight is not what anyone would describe as patience. You have never been a patient person, and you can thank your anxiety for that.

You arrived at the venue about half an hour ago, an hour before the gala even starts. You like to be on time or extremely early. There’s no in between. 

The real reason you arrived early was to meet Derek before the event. You wanted to chat and get acquainted before everyone else arrived. 

He’s late. You would understand if he had sent a quick text saying he would be there soon, but you haven’t received anything in an hour.

You spent the last twenty minutes pacing back and forth. The bartender noticed your nerves and slid a glass of water your way. You’ve been sipping on it while trying to fix your curled strands. This is why you usually wear your hair up—so you don’t have to worry about adjusting it repeatedly. Then there’s your dress, which you keep fussing with.

You wore a navy satin dress with a plunging neckline that revealed just enough cleavage. The back was mostly open, featuring crisscross straps. The dress hugged your curves perfectly and accentuated your figure, making your ass look fantastic. You exuded elegance along with just the right amount of sultriness.

It wasn’t your typical style, and the thought of revealing too much of yourself made you feel insecure. Since you hadn’t been on a date in a while, you decided it was the perfect opportunity to try something bold. Now, you worry that after putting in so much effort, he might end up standing you up.

You continue to drink your water, letting it cool you. You almost wish you had something a bit stronger to ease the tension in your body.

Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you as a warm hand brushes your arm. You quickly turn your head around.

Damn. Congressman Barnes.

He looks like snow cast in shadow under the midnight sky, with the snowflakes illuminated only by the moonlight. He’s wearing a crisp white button-up shirt over a black tuxedo and dark dress pants. Although his bow tie is crooked, it doesn’t matter at all. Bucky wears suits every day, but tonight he looks incredibly handsome with his hair slicked back and his blue eyes shining.

Shit. You’re gawking at him. To distract him from your flustered state, you flash him a wide smile. His warm flesh hand rests gently on your arm, but after a moment, he acknowledges that he is still touching you, and he lets his hand fall away.

Bucky opens and closes his mouth several times before spitting it out. “You look…lovely.” 

Your smile falters slightly, and you feel your breath become heavier in your lungs from that simple word. Sure, he has complimented you before, but this feels different. You can't quite put your finger on why, though.

“Thank you.” Your voice is delicate, and your grin turns genuine, unlike the showy one from before. “You don't look too bad yourself.”

Bucky huffs air out of his nose, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes seem to penetrate your very being, as if he's tearing through your flesh to truly understand every part of you. He knows your most vulnerable sides and didn't flinch. So, what’s the harm in him seeing everything?

You turn your gaze away from his eyes, afraid of losing yourself in them. Your eyes shift to his neck as you take a step forward until you're directly in front of him.

“You look perfect, but can I make one minor adjustment?” 

He gives you a firm nod in response. You extend your arms to grip both sides of his bow tie and adjust it to your liking.

“Great,” Bucky grumbles. “I can’t even dress myself properly.” 

“You did fine, it was just a bit crooked. Sometimes all a man needs is a woman’s touch to look presentable.” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone. 

After adjusting, you rest your hand over the middle of the bow tie. Glancing up into his piercing blues, you realize how close you are.

You swear he’s reading every one of your thoughts as if they’re on full display. It’s intimidating, yet his eyes tell you he’ll treasure them, keeping them tucked away in his mind in a special spot just for you.

His cologne envelops you like a warm hug, drawing you in as if urging you to kiss him. You find yourself captivated by the scent, which clouds your mind and impairs your logical thinking.

Instead, you gently pat him and take a step back, admiring your work. “Now you’re ready for your close-up, Congressman Barnes.”

He shakes his head and playfully rolls his eyes. “Thanks, doll.” He peers around the room. “Where’s uh…Derek?”

You let out a lengthy sigh. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

He looks puzzled, so you clarify, “We were supposed to meet thirty minutes ago, but he hasn’t shown up or even sent a text.”

Bucky clenches his jaw, but releases it as if the tension was never there. “Would you like me to wait with you?”

You wave your hand as if to shoo him away. "No, please, go mingle."

He seems like he might press the issue, but gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Well, as soon as he gets here, I’m givin’ him a piece of my mind for makin’ a pretty girl wait.”

He’s stolen the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping for just a bit of air to keep from suffocating. It feels as if he hasn’t realized that his sweet words are slowly killing you. Then, he walks away as if nothing had happened.

Air rushes into your lungs again, overwhelming you as if it’s choking you. You’re panting like you ran a marathon, yet your feet remain planted in the same spot.

You pull out your phone from your purse and shoot Derek another text.

I’m at the bar whenever you get here.

You need him here now. The whole reason you put yourself out there is to distract your heart from liking someone you can’t be with. And once again, Bucky has turned your world upside down. You must avoid your feelings before they sink their teeth into your vulnerable, beating heart.

Minutes go by, and finally, you see a familiar figure moving around the ballroom. Derek is even more attractive in person. He carries himself with confidence, and his presence fills the space, as if his frame were larger than it actually is.

He is wearing a casual beige polo shirt loosely tucked into mocha-colored trousers, paired with loafers. His dark hair is perfectly coiffed around his eyes, and the sleeves of his shirt fit tightly around his biceps.

It seems he wore it intentionally for that reason, and you don’t mind. You can appreciate some muscle; there’s nothing wrong with showcasing something you worked hard for.

Of course, appearances aren’t everything for you. You matched with him because of his impressive profile. He works as a financial manager, which shows he is skilled with money. He has a dog named Luna, who is a husky. In his free time, he has hosted multiple charity events and volunteers at homeless shelters.

Derek seems like the perfect guy on paper. From your conversations with him, he checks all the right boxes: he’s kind, caring, and communicates well. The only downside is that he left you waiting for almost two hours. However, you believe in not judging someone based on first impressions, so you’re genuinely excited to see how this date unfolds.

You eventually wave him over. “Derek, hey!”

He immediately responds to the sound of your voice, greeting you with an easy smile as he checks you out.

Being examined by an objectively handsome man should elicit some feelings, right? You might expect butterflies in your stomach, your skin to heat, or your heart to skip a beat. But it does nothing for you. Not like when Bucky even glances your way, then your palms become instantly sweaty.

Stop thinking about Bucky and focus on the man approaching you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a quick hug while you drape your arms around his neck. You might feel rigid in his embrace, like stiff cardboard. As he steps back, you remind yourself to relax and not let your nerves get the better of you.

Derek leans back to get the full view of you up close. “Damn, you’re hotter in person.”

Oh, what an interesting way to start a conversation. You can't help but think of Bucky and how gently he spoke about your appearance, as if it were difficult for him to express what he was seeing in just a few words. In contrast, Derek is quite bold. Perhaps that's a good thing?

”Thank you, you’re very handsome in person.”

He smirks at you like he knows it. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He pushes his hair back and deliberately flexes his arm muscles. “Listen, I’m sorry I’m late. Something came up.”

Well, that’s vague. It’s fine, you’re over it. At least he’s here now.

“All good,” you gesture toward the bar seats. “Would you like to sit?” He nods, climbing onto one of the stools, while you take the one next to him.

“What‘re we drinking?” Derek claps his hands and rubs them together. 

“I’m on the job, so unfortunately, it's just water for me. You can go ahead, it's an open bar.” 

“Come on,” he pokes you in the side. “Just one, I won’t tell anyone.”

You lightly giggle. “No, really, I shouldn’t.”

He rolls his eyes, and he seems annoyed. “You’re no fun.”

Derek turns to the bartender and orders a rum and Coke. Your water is refilled. You turn in your seat, resting your jaw on your hand, and wait for the conversation to flow.

As the night progressed, the date hadn’t. Derek only seemed to want to talk about himself, which would have been fine if he had included you in the conversation. Instead, he spoke right over you and didn't ask about you once.

You nod along and actively listen. He takes full advantage of the open bar while you stay hydrated. He is not at all what you expected and is completely different from the man you texted daily.

There’s a beat of silence, and you take that opportunity to finally get a word in. “I read on your profile that you do charity work. What charity did you last host for?”

Derek shrugs. “No idea, my dad is in charge of all that shit.”

“Huh?” You give him a perplexed expression.

“My dad runs the company where I work and organizes the charity events. Sometimes I don't even bother showing up.” He chuckles as if it’s funny, but you don’t laugh.

You change the topic since he doesn't know anything about it. "What kind of volunteer work do you do at homeless shelters?"

“That was a lie.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Look, it's tough out here for us men. Sometimes, you have to lie to even get a date with these self-absorbed women.”

You suppress your growing anger. Why would someone lie about that? You feel like you need to make an excuse to run to the bathroom.

Derek leans closer to you. “But you’re different, sweetheart.” His hand wraps around your waist, and you can smell alcohol on his breath.

He presses his mouth to your ear and whispers. “Maybe we can find a private room in this place.” Derek’s hand drifts down your back and he grabs your ass.

Your body tenses up, and you feel extremely uncomfortable. He just squeezed your ass as if he had the right to do so. You hadn’t given any indication that such behavior was acceptable. Even if you had, he should have asked for permission before touching you in that way.

You hardly know each other. You know almost everything about him, but he knows very little about you. You’re trying to lean away from him to breathe air that isn’t his, but he’s holding you close.

You almost convince yourself that this is what you want, but your body rejects the idea. The thought of having sex with him makes you feel physically ill. He’s drunk and would only be using you for his own pleasure, which wouldn’t be enjoyable for you at all. You crave meaningful sex, not a brief distraction to forget about your boss.

Your breathing is shallow, and you begin to shake. You try to speak, but the words won’t come out. Silently, you pray for anyone to come to your rescue. Although you could push him off you, you can’t find the strength; you feel frozen.

Save me, please, you think. You don’t know exactly who you’re pleading to, but you hope someone can somehow hear you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Bucky has been watching you all night, especially when Derek arrived. He was supposed to go over and introduce himself to your date, but he didn't have the courage to do it. 

He’s fine with watching from a distance. He doesn’t have to hear you laugh at Derek’s jokes or look at him with your beautiful, sparkling eyes.

He places himself so that he can catch a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye during every conversation he has with the wealthy assholes. He hardly pays attention to what they are saying because he is concerned about you. While he adds a few remarks to each topic, he isn’t genuinely interested in their responses.

Bucky becomes especially interested in your date when Derek leans in closer. He clenches his fist and grinds his teeth in frustration. He almost looks away, but notices how uncomfortable you appear. Though Bucky is quite a distance away from you, he knows exactly what he saw.

You attempt to pull away from Derek, but he only draws you closer. Meanwhile, Bucky has vanished without a word to the person he was talking to. He moves through the crowd with purpose, as if on a mission that no one can interrupt.

Derek leans back to examine your face, gently pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. Bucky feels a wave of nausea; he can tell you're not interested in Derek's advances because you appear to be panicking internally.

Bucky clears his throat as he stands behind you. Derek eventually lowers his hand, and the tension instantly leaves your body. You glance back at Bucky, and your breathing becomes lighter.

”Can I borrow you for a second?” Bucky nearly grits the words out through his teeth.

“Sure.” You turn in your seat and begin to get off, but Bucky is there with a hand out to help you. You grin in appreciation and use his hand to leap down.

After you’re down, Bucky’s hand falls back to his side. You turn to Derek while motioning towards Bucky. “This is my boss, Congressman Barnes.” You swivel around to Bucky. “Barnes, this is Derek.”

Bucky nods in Derek’s direction but avoids making eye contact. Derek stumbles out of his seat, clearly drunk and struggling to hold his liquor.

“Congressman, it’s an honor to meet you,” Derek slurs as he stands in front of Bucky, extending his hand. “Let me just say, your campaign was inspiring.”

Bucky takes a moment to push down the raging fire crawling up his throat. “Thanks.” He grunts and takes Derek’s outstretched hand with his metal one. His grasp is unyielding, as if one wrong move could snap all the bones in Derek’s hand.

“Shit,” Derek growls as he grimaces in pain. ”Strong grip you have there.”

Bucky grins mischievously as he claps his hand on Derek’s shoulder. "Sorry, sometimes I don't know my own strength." He then releases his hand and steps back, offering his arm to you.

You link your arm with his, resting your hand on his forearm. “I’ll be right back,” you assure your date, but he secretly clutches his hand as if the bones have shattered.

Bucky guides you away, his expression marked by irritation. You glance up at him and squeeze his bicep with your free hand. “What’s wrong, grumpy?”

“Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?” Bucky mutters, keeping his eyes forward, as if you’ll see the reason swimming there if he looks at you.

“I don’t know; you tell me.” You stop, making Bucky halt and glance in your direction. Your eyes show concern. “Are the rich bastards stressing you out?” 

You reach up, placing your thumb on Bucky’s forehead, rubbing out the frown lines between his eyebrows. His eyes flutter closed at the sensation as he lets you melt away the tension with your touch.

You hum and remove your thumb from its spot when you register that all the strain in his forehead is long gone. Bucky peels his eyes open again as he speaks. “What stress, darlin’?”

You giggle, and it lights up the entire room. “I swear it was there a second ago.” You tease, patting his forearm. “What’d you need me for, Barnes?” 

Shit. Bucky didn’t fully consider the consequences; he just wanted to help you escape that uncomfortable situation.

So, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “I need a second opinion. Could you listen in on the conversation? Let me know what’s worthy of my attention.”

“Of course, lead the way.” You answer with warmth in your voice.

Bucky guides you towards a group of people in suits engaged in conversation. You both join the discussion, and Bucky introduces you. You shake a few hands and receive a warm welcome. As the conversation resumes, you actively participate in it.

Bucky is impressed by your enthusiasm for political topics. Words come easily to you, and you have a wealth of knowledge. He always knew you were intelligent, but witnessing you in action is captivating. 

The conversation shifts to more personal matters, including families, properties, and everyone’s golf score. You and Bucky don’t participate in that section of the discussion. 

You angle your mouth to Bucky’s ear and whisper. “I should get back, but let me know if you need anything.”

He doesn’t want you to leave. Things are easier with you around. Bucky can’t let you return to that jerk, who’s drunk and trying to take advantage of you.

Bucky gently grabs your arm before you leave and leads you away from the suits for a private conversation. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

”Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” You respond, trying to avert Bucky’s gaze.

”Darlin’,” He begins. “I saw him touch you.”

You shrug, acting as if it’s no big deal. “That’s typically how things go on dates.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not like that.”

”Please, stay out of it.” Your voice is small, like you don’t want to argue with him right now.

“What if he tries that shit again?” Bucky doesn’t mean to raise his voice at you, but he loathes this situation. He wants more than anything to protect you, even if you're not his to protect.

“Then, I’ll handle it. I’m very capable of doing things myself.” You match his tone, clearly showing that you’re getting upset with him.

He wants to avoid making you angry, so he tries to make his voice sound lighter and more compassionate. “I know you’re capable, but I want you to be safe. I’m not convinced you're safe with him.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, and Bucky sees this as a signal to continue. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you shouldn't waste your time on him. He disrespected you, and I don’t think he deserves a second chance.”

“Well, I believe everyone deserves a second chance.” You state calmly.

Bucky scoffs. “Not everyone, doll.”

You don’t miss a beat. “You did.”

Bucky's shoulders slump as he reflects on your words. He has always struggled to believe he deserves forgiveness for his past. Although he knows, on some level, that he had no other choice, that doesn't erase the lives he took and the families he destroyed.

Those feelings will never fade, no matter how often he’s told ‘it wasn’t him’. He still has to live with the screams and gore he witnessed with his own hands. When he relives those memories, it’s his hand that is doing the killing, even if it’s dark now instead of the silver one in his nightmares. 

It's not an out-of-body experience where he watches the soldier do his bidding. No, it's all Bucky; that's clear to him. Now, he's questioning his judgment all because of you. With just two simple words and that twinkle in your eye, you convinced him that he deserved a second chance and that he is worthy of the life he’s living now.

How does she do that? That must be a superpower or something.

“Listen,” you begin again. “I appreciate your concern, but please let me do this.”

Bucky’s hand drops from your arm as if he's enchanted. He doesn't want to tell you what to do; God knows he's had enough of that in his lifetime. He shouldn't do that to you either.

“You’re going to give me wrinkles with all this stress you’re puttin’ me through, darlin’.” His gaze narrows at you.

“Aw, you poor thing,” you smirk. “Seriously, please don’t stress. You're first on my contact list, if anything goes wrong.”

First on your contact list? Bucky won’t dwell on that too much, for his own sake. He rolls his eyes, and you chuckle at his disapproval. 

You step towards him and quickly kiss his cheek. Bucky practically melts at the brief contact. As you pull away, your eyes shine with forming tears. “Thank you for always looking out for me. I truly don’t deserve you.”

Bucky is stunned into silence as he stares at you, dumbfounded, as if you just told him the world is falling apart. He wants to say it's the opposite—that he doesn’t deserve you—but the words are stuck in his throat, as if he’s choking on them.

You smile at him as if you can read his thoughts, and one of the tears rolls down your face. You turn and stride away. Before he knows it, the crowd has engulfed you.

There's a sharp pain in his chest. For some reason, he feels like he just lost you. Bucky should have fought harder for you. Although he doesn’t deserve you, he would treat you right.

If it were Bucky instead, he would have a hand on the small of your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, and asking you to dance. He would take his time with you, making you feel like you were something special, because you are special.

Now he has to spend the next hour drifting in and out of meaningless conversations while he worries about you. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You wipe the tears from your eyes as you return to the bar. You’ve never felt so deeply cared for in your life, and you refuse to take it for granted. Already, you’re planning ways to show your gratitude to Bucky, making sure he knows how much you appreciate him and everything he has done for you.

You spot Derek still at the bar where you left him. His head is resting in his hand, and it looks like he has switched to water. Sneaking up behind him, you say with a hint of amusement in your tone, “Did you drink them dry of all their alcohol?”

Derek spins around, and upon seeing you, he bursts out laughing. “No, I thought this would help me sober up faster.” He lifts his glass.

You hum in response. Derek jumps down from his stool and faces you. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was out of line. First, I shouldn’t have gotten drunk on a date. Work was frustrating me, and you were making me nervous. I thought the alcohol might help, but I realize now that it only made things worse.”

Derek takes a deep breath. “Second, I talked about myself the whole time. That was not fair to you. I didn’t even ask you anything; I just rambled on and on about shit that doesn’t matter.”

“Third,” he rubs the back of his neck. “The biggest mistake. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. That was highly inappropriate, and I should have asked you before even thinking about it.”

Wow, you weren't expecting that, but you're pleasantly surprised. It doesn’t justify what he did, but at least he’s taking accountability. 

“I think we need a do-over. What do you think?” You offer.

Derek seems relieved by your words. “That sounds great.”

You give him a kind smile. “How about a walk?” 

He glances down at your attire. “In heels?”

You snort. “I’ll take them off.”

“I’ll carry them for you.” He winks at you. You already feel more at ease with this new start.

Derek motions for you to follow him out of the room, and you do. You stroll side by side through the hallway. His fingers gently brush against yours, as if silently asking for permission. You feel warmth in your chest and heat rising in your cheeks.

He pauses by the coat room and motions to it. “I gotta get my jacket quick.” You nod for him to go ahead, and he steps inside. 

You lean against the doorframe as you pull your phone out of your purse. “I should send my boss a text before we leave.” You swiftly type something out and send it to Bucky.

Change of plans, we’re going for a walk. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. You can make me work extra :) 

Derek grabs his leather jacket and throws it on. “I thought you’d never get away from him.”

You put your phone back in your purse, and your brow furrows. “Hmm?”

“I thought he was going to hold you hostage all night.”

“Well, he is kind of my job.” You shrug with a grin on your lips.

“I know that,” Derek crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t get me wrong, he seems like a nice guy, he just asks a lot of you.”

“I don’t think he asks enough of me, honestly. I have the easiest job.” 

He tilts his head. “You don’t think he’s demanding or testy?”

“Not at all. Sure, he sometimes gets grumpy, but I know he means well,” you admit. Derek quirks a brow, then dips his head and shakes it. He stays quiet for a moment.

You press the matter because you're curious. “You seem like you want to say something else.”

“It’s nothing.” Derek waves you off.

“Come on, just say it.” Your tone is playful..

Derek takes a deep breath as he contemplates whether to say what’s on his mind. “I mean, he’s kind of a murderer.”

Your body stiffens, and you frown; you are entirely disgusted by the fact that he said that.

"No, he's not." Your voice is firm and unwavering.

“You’re defending him? I get that you work for him, but you don’t have to follow him blindly.”

You scoff. “Of course, I’m defending him. He was brainwashed for fuck’s sake and he didn’t have a choice. How would you like to be stripped of your choices and used as a weapon?”

Your blood is boiling. Why were you so naive to think that this guy was anything other than a jerk? Derek disrespected you, and now he's doing the same to Bucky. You should have listened to your boss when he advised you not to give this guy another chance.

“You believe that shit? He almost broke my fucking hand, shaking it. That seems like a conscious mind, freely being violent, to me.” Derek shouts.

You could laugh because you weren’t aware that Bucky tried to break his hand. You thought Derek was exaggerating, but now you realize he wasn’t.

You’re finished with this discussion. You need to walk away before you become ‘freely violent.’ You start to march away, but stop and turn around when Derek speaks again.

“Hold on, I see what this is. You follow Barnes around like a lost puppy because you want something from him.”

You let out a dry laugh. You can’t believe you’re still listening to this guy like he has anything relevant to say.

Derek gets closer to you again. “No wait, I got it. You’re trying to get in his pants for a promotion.”

Your heart pounds with anger as you glare at Derek. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I truly love my job, asshole.”

“No one wants to be an assistant.” 

“Well, this date is over.” You stomp down the hallway, attempting to get some distance from him.

“It’s a shame.” You glance over your shoulder, and he’s giving you a condescending smile. “You would have been a decent fuck.”

Your hands ball into fists tightly, and your fingernails dig into your palms. You shouldn’t even be entertaining Derek, but you yell back anyway. “That’s your problem, huh? You think with your two inch dick rather than your brain.”

You can tell that bothered him. “You’re just mad because I figured you out.” You roll your eyes, and your feet shift forward again. “That’s right. Go cry to your boss and beg him to fuck you.”

You keep moving, unbothered by his shouts. Derek continues, much to your dismay, “I knew you were desperate, but I didn’t realize you were also a slut.”

Your movements falter slightly. Out of everything Derek said, that’s what affects you the most. It feels heavy on your chest. Everything he mentioned about you and Bucky feels like weights tied to your ankles, dragging you down. Your vision blurs as tears prick your eyes.

You hear a door shut in the distance, and you hope that means he’s gone because you can’t hold back your tears any longer. You need to sit down, but the waterfall of tears obstructs your vision. You find a wall to lean against and slowly slide down into a sitting position.

You pull your knees to your chest and sob. Tears stream down your cheeks as you gasp for air in a broken cry.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Change of plans, we’re going for a walk. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. You can make me work extra :) 

Bucky has been standing in the same spot for several minutes, staring at your text. He’s thinking about whether to find you and take you home or stay put like you asked him to.

He struggles to follow your precise instructions; stay out of it. He strides out of the room like a tracking dog following a scent. As soon as he exits the ballroom, he hears it.

Muffled cries fill his ears, and he knows it’s you without even looking. Your back is against the wall, but you’re curled in on yourself. He tentatively steps over to you, so he doesn’t startle you.

“Darlin’?” Bucky’s tone is tender, full of sympathy. He’s never seen you like this, and it breaks his heart.

Your head snaps up from your knees. Your red, tired eyes dart over Bucky’s form. You quickly wipe the tears from your face and force a weak smile.

You point your thumb toward the ballroom. “I’ll be in; I just need a minute.” Your voice is thick with unshed tears.

“No,” he declares as he walks over to you, positioning himself against the wall while maintaining a little distance to give you space. He grabs the fabric of his dress pants at his thighs and adjusts them before sitting down beside you.

Bucky stretches out his legs and lets the quiet settle between you, interrupted only by your sniffles. After a while, he decides to continue his statement. “You’re going to sit with me for as long as you need.”

Once you can breathe clearly and the occasional tear falls, you mumble, “You should have broken his hand.”

Bucky lets out a nervous chuckle. “You saw that?”

“Sort of, but…Derek confirmed my suspicions.” It’s a struggle for you to get his name out as if it’s strangling you from the inside.

He clenches his jaw, furious that Derek hurt you and that Bucky could have prevented it. But then again, you’re stubborn, and he knows you would eventually find a way to return to your date, even if he physically tried to hold you back. Yes, he’s a super soldier, but he doesn’t stand a chance against you when your heart is set on something.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Bucky murmurs.

You shake your head. “Not right now, maybe later.” You wipe a stray tear from your jaw and rest your chin on your knee, examining a point on the opposite wall.

Bucky's heart squeezes in his chest. He doesn't know what to say or do. When he feels pain, he prefers to sit in silence. Maybe that’s what you want, so he chooses not to speak.

You break the stillness with a question. “You know how we said no secrets?”

He nods his head even though your focus isn’t on him. “Yeah.”

You slowly turn your head to meet his gaze. The color of your eyes is dim, and the skin around them is swollen.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Your voice cracks as if there’s a threat of more tears yet to come.

Bucky's throat tightens as he watches you. The sight is like witnessing a butterfly losing its wings yet struggling to stay aloft. You keep falling, desperately pleading for someone to save you from your impending doom. Bucky has been there for you, arms wide open; he’s just waiting for you to notice him.

“Could we do our post-gala recap tonight instead of tomorrow morning?” you ask, sounding uncertain, and his heart shatters.

“Works for me, doll.” Bucky’s lips lift at the corners. You return his smile, albeit smaller. At least he got that much. 

“Damnit,” his eyebrows knit together, deep in thought. “I didn’t bring my keys for the building. I can swing by my apartment-”

You interrupt him. “We can go to your apartment instead.” Your following words tumble out of you like you can’t hold back your growing anxiety. “If that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“That doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.” He reassures, and your expression softens.

You nod and relax against the wall behind you. “I think I’m going to wait in my car, if that’s alright with you. I don’t feel like being in a crowd.”

Bucky scoffs in amusement; he wouldn't leave you alone in your car, especially not like this. You just admitted that you didn't want to be by yourself.

“No,” he stands up to his full height. You were baffled, staring at him with wide eyes. Your expression read What do you mean ‘no’, but you were hesitant to question his authority.

He offers you his hand and clears up your confusion. “We’re leaving.”

“Now?” You inspect his outstretched hand and then his face.

”Yes, now. You’re ridin’ with me.” 

“But, my car-”

Bucky cuts you off. “I’ll bring you back.” He waves his extended hand around. “Take my damn hand.”

You comply, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Always telling me what to do,” you smirk, and he can't help but chuckle. You brush off invisible dirt from your dress and look up at him.

Fuck, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even with your exhausted eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You’re like a sunset, with colors in full vibrancy. Reds and oranges swirl together to create the masterpiece that is you.

“Is there something on my face? Oh shit, did I cry all my mascara off? The packaging said it was waterproof.” You grumble as if you’re furious about your makeup. He can just see you writing a lengthy review about how you bawled your eyes out, and the mascara didn’t hold up.

He shakes his head and chuckles. "No, your mascara is fine." He doesn't know why, but he admits the truth about why he was openly gawking at you: "I was staring because you're beautiful."

You blink multiple times at him, then he notices your cheeks flush. “James, I—I know I look like a wreck. Don’t lie,” you stammer out.

Bucky smirks at the sound of his first name. He rarely hears you call him anything other than ‘Barnes,’ but when you're serious or scolding him, you use ‘James.’ He lives for those moments, just to hear you say his name that way.

He shrugs. "Logically, you should. But you're beautiful, no matter the circumstances."

You’re attempting to suppress a smile, but failing. “You can’t say things like that.”

A charming smirk appears on Bucky’s face. “Why not?”

“Because,” you’re searching for the best answer, “you’re going to give me a big head.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you hold it up.” He winks at you.

Your cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. You playfully roll your eyes and slap his arm. “Are you going to keep flirting, or are you taking me to your apartment?”

Is that what he was doing? Talking to you like this felt so effortless that he didn’t even realize he was flirting. He enjoyed it and wanted to continue. He liked seeing you all flustered—the way you tried to pretend you didn’t like it, but your flushed cheeks gave you away.

Bucky tilts his head. “I can do both. I’m a great multitasker.”

Your lips part and you suck in a breath. Now he’s thinking that little comment he just made could have a double meaning. Maybe he intended it that way because you definitely took it like that. And, damn, now he’ll be thinking about it the whole way home.

“Uh-huh, I bet you are.” You reply in a mocking tone.

Bucky could do this forever with you and never tire of it. However, he knows that this is extremely inappropriate. No matter how much he wants you, he understands he can’t have you.

He wants to be the person who makes you laugh, comforts you on tough days when you're feeling anxious, kisses your shoulder when he wakes up beside you, and holds you in his arms to relieve his stress, as you melt away his tension. He craves all the cheesy, romantic moments that come with being in a relationship with you.

But you are unattainable. You’re his assistant. Bucky feels like all the other creepy political figures who fantasize about being with someone who works for them. They get a sickening power high from it. 

That’s not how he sees it, though. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Unlike the other wealthy assholes who view their employees as mere possessions, he perceives you as something precious that he doesn’t deserve. Perhaps that’s why he believes he can’t have you — because he thinks you’re too good for him.

“Ready, darlin’?”He eventually asks. You nod, still grinning. If he sees you smile like that one more time, he might not be able to stop his common sense from flying out the window.

Bucky offers you his arm, and you wrap yours through the opening, gripping his bicep as he leads you out of the building. He calls for the car to come around and helps you into it, placing a protective hand over your head to prevent you from bumping it.

Once he knows you’re safely inside, he squeezes his eyes shut and wills the feelings within him to stop burrowing into his heart. It’s like a festering wound he can never quite be free of. 

One hell of a wish that is. He’ll never get rid of these maddening feelings for you.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The car ride to Bucky’s apartment is mostly quiet, which is fine with you because your mind is keeping you thoroughly entertained.

Congressman James Barnes was flirting, and he was flirting with you. He called you beautiful and meant it, even when your face was streaked with dried tears. He winked at you, and you felt your stomach flutter instantly.

You were foolish to think one date would erase these feelings, because now that you know him, no man will ever compare. You’ll constantly hold everyone to the standard set by Bucky.

Bucky's driver approaches his apartment building, which appears to be quite expensive based on its exterior. You know that this apartment was provided to him by the government upon his return to the States; it was part of the deal for his pardon. He received a nice apartment situated high enough that no one would disturb him, but the government was keeping a close eye on him.

It made you feel nauseous just thinking about it, even though he wasn’t being monitored closely at the moment. It was absurd that he had been under constant surveillance in a home he never chose. Hydra had taken away all of Bucky’s choices, so why couldn't he even decide something as simple as where he lives?

You open the door to get out, but you hear another door slam, causing you to stop. Then, Bucky jogs around the car to stand in front of you with his hand out. Ever the gentleman.

You smile and take his human hand to help you out of the car. His metal hand rests gently atop your head again as you exit. You feel like a princess with this kind of treatment.

Bucky subtly waves to his driver as the car pulls away. He then guides you inside, takes you to the elevator, and directs you down the hall to his apartment.

Once inside, you were surprised by how charming and modern it was. It wasn't at all what you had imagined, but you liked it.

“Make yourself at home.” Bucky passes you and wanders into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water, please,” you murmur, still taking in your surroundings. You take off your heels at the door, not to be polite, but because your feet are killing you.

You pad into the kitchen after him, and he’s putting ice in a glass. The kitchen is bright white with a splash of color. There’s an island with stools lined up along it, and that’s where you decide to ‘make yourself at home’.

You lift yourself onto the stool, and Bucky slides your water glass over the counter. You nod in thanks and take a sip. He then disappears down the hallway that you’re certain leads to his room.

He returns without his tuxedo jacket, bowtie, and shoes. His collar is unbuttoned, and he's rolling up his sleeves as he rounds the island to sit beside you. Every time you see him like this, you can't help but internally freak out.

You nearly choke on your water, and he’s there with a hand gently patting you on the back. “You okay there?”

“Of course, just drank it too fast.” You nervously smile, hoping he misses your lie. Bucky drops his hand when you stop coughing.

You need to change the subject because you have to stop thinking about how dreamy he looks. “Where would you like to start?” 

You take your purse from your shoulder and place it on the surface to dig for your phone. “I don’t have my laptop, but I can write your thoughts down on my notes app and transfer them to a document later.”

He shakes his head and grabs your wrist, pausing your action. “We can do that tomorrow. Relax, talk to me.”

You glance up at him, and your breath catches in your throat. Breathing feels pointless because you can't seem to exhale. His eyes are shifting in a way that makes it seem like his smoky blue gaze conveys something entirely different from what his mouth is saying, but you're struggling to understand their message.

He releases your wrist, and you come back to reality. You set your purse off to the side as you inhale oxygen properly again. “What do you want me to say?”

“What happened?” Bucky mumbles. He doesn’t want to pressure you if you’re not ready to talk.

You take a deep breath and begin to explain. “When I returned to the bar, he had sobered up a bit and apologized to me. I foolishly believed he was genuinely sorry and asked if he would like to start over.”

You let your eyes fall away from him, examining the drops of condensation running down your glass. “But, then, he insulted you, and that apology didn’t mean anything anymore.”

Bucky nods slowly. “What’d he say?” You shake your head, unable to tell him the vile words bouncing around in your skull.

”It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” He insists.

You meet his gaze once more, and your eyes begin to well up with tears. Not out of pity for him, but because it pains you to hear someone speak negatively about your favorite person. The most heartbreaking part is that the worst of it comes from his own mind.

Hydra is long gone, but now he is torturing himself. You wish you could take away all that pain and those awful thoughts, replacing them with something pure.

From your experience, you understand that the healing process is a slow journey. It requires time and energy to rebuild your mental and emotional state and regain a sense of humanity. You want to be the person he trusts enough to share that process with.

Bucky doesn’t need fixing because he wasn’t broken to begin with; he needs someone to confide in and rely on. You want to be that person who’s there for him through it all, just as he is for you.

“That’s the problem. You don’t deserve that.” Your voice quivers slightly. 

He scans your face like he’s trying to find the lie hidden in your features, but he won’t find one.

“Okay,” he lets out a long sigh. “You’re right.”

“Absolutely, I am.” You agree matter-of-factly, then deepen your voice to impersonate Bucky: “I’m always right.”

He scoffs. “I don’t sound like that.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. ”I know, I’m working on it.”

Bucky smirks, shaking his head as if trying not to laugh. His expression becomes serious again. “What else did he say?”

You wave him off. “It’s not important.”

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a disapproving look. You roll your eyes and say, “Why do you need to know?”

He shrugs. “For research purposes.” 

You purse your lips, but eventually concede. “He suggested that I was trying to…get in your pants for a promotion.” 

His jaw ticks, but you reluctantly carry on. “On top of that, he called me desperate and a slut, so truly the highlight of my week.” You release a dry laugh.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched so tightly that it seems he might break a tooth. His hands are balled into fists, and the raging fire in his eyes is unmistakable.

”Don’t.” You warn.

“What?” He grits his teeth.

“Don’t get mad. He’s not worth the energy.”

“Not mad.” He growls. You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow, and he proceeds. “I’m fucking pissed.”

“Well, I’m over it, you should be too-”

Bucky interrupts you. “Hold on, I’m plotting his murder in my mind.” His eyes squeeze shut for a second, and you stifle a giggle. “Okay, now I’m at the part where I hide the body.”

You playfully slap his arm, and his eyes shoot open, amusement evident on his face. “Are you making me an accomplice to your imaginary crimes?” you tease.

“Who said imaginary?” He smirks. You laugh, and your eyes crinkle at the corners. You shouldn’t find planning a murder comical, but it feels nice to laugh again.

After a beat of silence, Bucky speaks. “Can I ask why you went back to him?”

Your smile fades as you lean forward, resting your elbow on the surface in front of you and propping your head in your hand. "If this is your way of saying 'I told you so,' just save it. I already know I was being stupid."

“That’s not-” he blurts, but cuts himself off to start over. “I just wanna know. And, you’re not stupid, don’t say that.”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts before revealing yourself to him. "I haven't been on a date in a couple of years, and I had a lot riding on this one. I know it sounds naive, but I thought it would be a one-and-done situation."

You chew on the skin of your bottom lip. "When he touched me, I thought I was the one with the problem. I believed there was something mentally wrong with me for not wanting him. But I was just making excuses for him, as I always do for horrible men who don't deserve my mercy."

Bucky’s eyes are fixed on you, intently listening and absorbing every word. This support is something you didn’t realize you needed, but it’s helping tremendously, and you hope he understands that.

You sit up a little taller in your seat, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you as you open up to him. “I tried dating before, and it was terrible—one bad date after another. I made a silent vow to myself that the next guy I met, I would settle for, because I’m tired of coming home alone. I want love, and if that makes me desperate, so be it.”

You give him a weak smile as you finish your rambling. You avert your gaze and start glancing around the kitchen, suddenly embarrassed.

“Look at me,” he orders in a soft voice. You find his eyes again, and they’re earnest. “Never settle, darlin’. You are something special, and you deserve nothing less than perfect.”

You're looking at him as if he has cleared your cloudy sky and made the sun shine brighter. You don't know how to react or what to say. Your heart is pounding against your rib cage, as if it's trying to escape.

Bucky clears his throat and hops off the stool. He veers around the island and picks up an old-fashioned radio that you notice for the first time.

“What are you doing?” you mumble. He turns the dial, and the crackle of the radio fills the air. The noise fades as he finds the station he was searching for. Right away, you recognize that the music is from the forties, instantly bringing a smile to your lips.

“I found a station that still plays music from my era some time ago. I listen to it occasionally, and it takes me back.” A broad smile lights up your face as you notice his relaxed demeanor, as if the mere sound of the music puts him at ease. 

Bucky rounds the counter again, standing in front of you. He offers you his flesh hand with a charming smirk. You tilt your head. “What?”

He nods to his hand. “I’m showing you how a real date should go.” 

Your stomach does somersaults and you bite your lip. “Are you smooth-talking me, Barnes?”

“Maybe, is it working?” His voice is deep and suave.

“You know it is.”

He extends his hand further. “Dance with me.” 

You take his hand, and he helps you down. He leads you to an open space between the kitchen and the living room.

He grabs your arm with his metal hand and places it on his shoulder. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your arm to grip your waist, sending a shiver down your spine. With your hands still interlocked, he raises his elbow and points outward.

“I should probably tell you, I don’t know how to dance.” You mutter.

“Do I have the honor of being your first dance?” His expression is marked by feigned shock.

You giggle and roll your eyes. “Yes.”

His face softens. “Don’t worry. I’ll lead, you follow. We’ll start slow.” 

You nod, and he sees this as a chance to begin. “Watch my feet and mimic my movements.”

You glance down between your bodies, and he takes a step back. You take a step forward, then he side steps, and you follow. You register that it’s your turn to take a step back, and he takes a step forward—another side step in the opposite direction, and you find yourselves back where you started.

“Good, you’re a natural.” Bucky sounds pleased, which brings a grin to your face.

He repeats his actions while you follow, and you watch his feet several more times until you feel confident in your understanding.

Your gaze returns to his, and the expression in his eyes is undeniably captivating. This moment feels like much more than a simple dance. You search your mind for a topic to discuss, hoping to avoid getting lost in the music and giving in to the urge to kiss him.

“Do you like being here?” The question runs out of your mouth.

Bucky’s taken aback by your sudden inquiry. He gives you a perplexed expression. “You mean this apartment?”

“Yeah, this apartment. Brooklyn. I know you lived here, but Brooklyn has changed a lot since the forties.”

“Oh, definitely, but I still enjoy living here.” He answers with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.” You resume your thought. “Don’t get me wrong; it's a lovely space, but do you see yourself living somewhere else?”

Bucky hums, lost in thought. “Yeah, I do. I want a house away from everything—somewhere without the noise of traffic, surrounded by nature like I had in Wakanda. Maybe I’ll finally get that cat.” He pinches your side, and you let out a snort.

You release a lengthy sigh. “And, I’ll be long gone.” You’re teasing, but there’s some truth to your words.

He shakes his head, clearly offended by your assumption. “That’s not how I see it.”

“Well, if you’re talking about settling down, you won’t be in politics anymore, and I won’t be your assistant.” You clarify.

His eyebrows knit together. “You don’t want to stay friends?” 

“Yeah, I do.” You squeak.

“Why’d you say it like that?” Bucky presses, and he’s caught you in a lie.

Your heart is racing now. Are you really about to tell him how you feel? You can’t imagine a future without him in it, but if you remain just friends for the rest of your life, it might break you.

You open and close your mouth before spitting it out. “Because I want to be more than just your friend.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, and his jaw clenches. His metal fingers twitch on your waist, causing more chills to run through your body. He scrutinizes you as if you had said something obscene.

You part your lips to interrupt his thoughts. As soon as you do, his attention shifts to your open mouth. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip as his gaze traces the outline of your mouth.

“Fuck,” He grunts. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

You must've forgotten you were still dancing, as you're tripping over your feet. You recover, getting back into the rhythm of the movements, but your mind feels like it's short-circuiting.

“Th-then,” you stutter, “kiss me.”

“It’s a bad idea.” His tone is serious, though a soft smile plays on his lips.

You contemplate this for a moment. He’s right; your situation is complicated, and kissing your boss would be a bad idea. Yet, you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Maybe, but you tend to have many of those.” You quip, smirking.

Bucky huffs air through his nose as if it’s funny, but when he speaks, his voice is firm. “No, I mean, it’s a terrible idea.”

You scoff, lightly hitting his shoulder where your hand rests. “That’s not making me feel any better, James.”

His smile fades, and his eyes darken. He looks as if he’s been longing for you, and now that he has permission to have you, he’s still contemplating the situation.

He comes to a sudden stop, causing you to halt your footwork as well. He still hasn’t released his grip on you, almost as if he physically can’t. You hear a deep, frustrated sound coming from his throat, indicating that he's angry with himself.

“Fuck it,” Bucky grumbles. 

Before you can fully register what he’s doing, he pulls you in by your waist and crashes his lips against yours. You gasp, and he swallows the sound. His lips bruise yours with a desperate intensity, as though he’s starved, and you’re the only one who can satisfy his hunger.

You reach out and cup the back of his neck with your palm. His hand falls away from yours as he grips the side of your neck, right under your jaw. With your hand now free, you run your fingers along his back, drawing him closer. Your bodies fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle.

His tongue glides along your bottom lip before invading your mouth. It explores every crevice like he’s committing your mouth to memory. You swirl your tongue around his and moan into the kiss.

Bucky shifts his weight, struggling to find his footing, as if the sound alone weakened his knees. His tongue retreats, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth before he pulls away completely.

Your eyes flutter open, and you find him studying you intently as you both try to catch your breath. His fingers gently brush against your rosy cheeks and swollen lips. He sweeps your hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear.

“We need to stop.” His voice is strained, as if the words are forced from his throat.

“Why?” You breathe.

He closes his eyes as if he can’t bear to see you in this state, flushed and desperate for more of him. “If we continue, I won’t be able to hold back.”

You smooth the loose strands that hang in his eyes back to their original place. “Don’t hold back.” Your tone is low and sultry.

Bucky's eyes fly open, breathing hard through his nose. His metal arm envelops your torso, pulling you close until you feel him, thick and hard against your lower stomach.

“Darlin’,” he drawls. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your eyes dart between his features, unsure of where to focus because you desire all of him. Your hand travels down the smooth expanse of his chest, feeling the quick thump of his heart beneath your fingertips. You grasp the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until you're only inches apart from his lips.

“Yes,” you murmur against his mouth. “Now, shall we continue, or do you have any more objections?”

He releases a shaky breath against your lips and shakes his head. You must’ve stolen his ability to speak. “Fantastic,” you whisper.

You lean in to kiss him again, this time more slowly. Your lips brush against each other gently, savoring the moment. You relish the soft curve of his mouth, the way his stubble tickles your delicate skin, and the feel of his nose nudging against your cheek.

Your tongue delves into his mouth uninvited, but he welcomes it with a satisfied hum. Now it’s your turn to explore his mouth with your tongue. You don’t get an adequate exploration because his tongue is sliding against yours, making it hard to focus on anything but his taste.

His warm hand slips into your hair, gently tugging at the roots to intensify the kiss. You whimper into his mouth, and suddenly, it feels like a switch has flipped. The kiss quickly becomes heated, as if your mouths are battling for dominance.

You unclasp your fist from his shirt as both of your hands move to the buttons of his dress shirt. One by one, you start to undo them. Once you’ve finished, he removes his hands from you and shrugs the shirt off. You hear the light fabric drop to the floor, and his hands quickly return to their previous positions.

Bucky begins to step forward, pushing you backward while your hands explore the firm contours of his chest and stomach. Your calves bump against something soft, and you realize it's the couch. You break the kiss, but his lips follow yours as if he's not finished savoring you.

“Sit.” You coax.

His eyelids flip up to reveal dilated, icy eyes. He inclines back and smirks. “Always tellin’ me what to do.” 

He sits down reluctantly with a huff. You back away from the couch, taking a moment to admire the view. As you scan his shirtless body, you notice the defined muscles. The black metal of his arm glimmers under the dim light.

You reach behind you to pull at the navy ties on your back as he proceeds to complain from his seat. “Y’know, this is my apartment.” 

The ties give way, and you start to slide the thin straps down your shoulders. “I feel like I should be tellin’-” Bucky stops himself as the material of the dress cascades down your body, pooling at your feet. You’re completely naked save for the steel blue panties you're wearing.

“What were you saying?” You poke fun at his stunned expression.

He swallows hard as he observes the angles and curves of your form. "It's irrelevant."

You giggle, warm and breathy. You hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Should I take these off, too?”

“No,” he blurts. “Keep ‘em on.”

You let go of the band, relaxing your hands at your sides. Bucky stretches out his arm and beckons you closer. “Come here.”

You saunter over to him. Once you’re close enough, he grips your hip with his metal hand. His cold touch sends shivers down your body. You sink onto the couch, positioning your knees on either side of him as you straddle his thighs. 

His flesh hand drags along the length of your figure, fingertips ghosting over you like he’s touching petals on a flower. “You’re stunning, doll.”

Your heart skips a beat at the compliment. Bucky’s eyes shift from your body to gaze up at you, and you cup his cheek. Your thumb strokes his skin, and he leans into your touch.

“Me?” You mutter. “You are perfect.”

His lips curl as he tilts his head up to peck your jaw in gratitude. When he leans back, his head dips to examine your panties again, his fingers toying with the waistband as he bites his lip.

“Do you know why I bought these?” you ask sheepishly. He shakes his head, his gaze still fixed on the steel blue fabric. “They reminded me of your eyes.”

Bucky looks up suddenly at your confession. "You're tryin’ to kill me, aren't you?"

You tilt your head back and chuckle. When you glance down again, he pokes your side. “That’s not funny! I swear, you’re going to give me a heart attack. You can’t just say that and expect me to stay calm,” he scolds, but you can’t help but keep laughing.

You tip your head forward and trail kisses from his cheek to his ear. “Sorry, baby. I wouldn’t want your heart to give out,” you whisper.

As you lean close to his ear, you gently nibble on his earlobe, and he lets out a soft grunt in response. You begin to kiss your way down his neck, focusing on the spots that elicit the strongest reactions from him. Your tongue flicks out to taste his skin, and you feel him shiver beneath you.

Bucky’s metal fingers press into your hip, as if he’s struggling to resist the urge to take you right here and now. His other hand lightly traces the wet spot on your underwear, making you groan against his neck.

“Hmm…you’re soaked,” he announces as he applies more pressure to your pussy. Your hips jerk when his fingertips move in circular motions on your underwear clad clit. 

You place lazy kisses along the area where metal touches skin. It's too hard to do anything beyond that now, as your head spins from his actions. You lean your forehead against the cool metal, finding a soothing comfort in it.

“There you go, just relax for me.” His voice is raspy as he speaks in your ear. 

He moves your panties to the side, running his fingers through your slick folds. Bucky slides a single digit into your entrance and you suck in a breath. He languidly pumps his finger into you while gently kissing your shoulder.

Your warm, heavy breathing against his chest quickens as he increases his pace. He inserts another one, stroking your walls with his long fingers. You let out a throaty moan and reach up to clutch his metal bicep to ground yourself.

You tip your head back to see him as he thrusts his fingers deeply into you. A delighted sound escapes your lips as his fingers crook deliciously inside of you. You grind against the palm of his hand as he works at your core.

“That’s it. Take what you need, darlin’.” He encourages.

You tilt his chin up and press your lips to his in a passionate kiss. He responds with equal enthusiasm as his fingers expertly plunge further and faster. Lips connect roughly as his teeth graze your bottom lip to nip at it. Your mouth separates from his, and your hot breath brushes across his lips. 

“I—I want to ride you.” You pant.

His fingers falter as he processes your comment. He inspects you as if he can’t believe you’re real. His metal fingers brush against your collarbone to tuck your hair back.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, awestruck by you. “If that’s what you want.” 

He gradually reduces his pleasing movements as you nod your head in agreement. His fingers slip out of you, and when he holds them up, they’re glistening with your juices. He puts the digits to his mouth and wraps his lips around them, sucking them clean.

Your jaw drops at the sight; it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen. You didn’t realize he could turn you on even more than you already are. 

He takes his fingers out of his mouth with a hum. “You taste divine. I would eat you out, but I guess we’ll save that for another time.” He states with a wink.

You aren't sure you can get off the couch now because your knees feel weak and your stomach is a fluttering mess.

He snaps the band of your underwear, pulling you from your daze. “How ‘bout you take these off for me while I take off my pants, sound good?”

You clamber off the couch as Bucky starts to unfasten his belt. You watch him intently while your thumbs hook into your panties. Sliding them down your thighs, you realize you’re both observing one another getting undressed.

You step out of your underwear and toss them somewhere in the living room. You hear him grunt from his seat now that you are completely bare.

He lifts his hips off the sofa and tugs his pants and boxers down the length of his thighs. You watch his cock spring free and your mouth begins to water. You want to drop to your knees for him, but the thought of him inside you is too tempting to resist.

Bucky tears the fabric from his legs and mimics your actions by tossing it across the room. He reaches out and holds you by your hips, then leans down to place soft kisses on your waist. He pulls you closer, and you both settle back into your spot on the couch.

His dick rests against his stomach, hardened and demanding. You take him firmly in your grasp and he sucks air through his teeth. You pump him a few times, spreading the precum with your thumb.

Your core is throbbing with anticipation. You decide you need him now. You position yourself over him, swiping the head of his cock through your slick. You line up his tip with your entrance, teasing it.

Bucky glances up at you with pleading eyes, and his grip on your hips is almost bruising. “Please, darlin’. I need to feel you.”

You didn’t know how beautiful begging could sound, but hearing it from his sweet lips is like silk blanketing your ears. “I know, honey. I need you too.” 

His eyes soften at the nickname. You’ll save that knowledge for later. 

You don’t waste any more time. You grab his shoulder with your free hand in preparation. Slowly, you lower yourself onto him as if you have all the time in the world, wanting to memorize every second of this moment.

He releases a strangled moan as his body goes rigid beneath you. He’s stretching out your tight pussy luxuriously as you inch down his cock. You maintain eye contact with him, observing the way his face twists in pleasure.

You settle onto his thighs, and he bottoms out inside you. You feel incredibly full, it’s a sensation you could easily get addicted to. As you take your time to adjust to his sheer size, you brush your knuckles across his cheekbone.

“You feel so good.” You praise. “Where have you been all my life?”

Bucky’s flesh hand loosens on your hip to take your wrist and kiss your palm. “Right here. I’ve been waiting for you.”

You lean in, kissing him desperately because you’re already addicted to him and can’t get enough. Your lips move tenderly against his, pouring every ounce of adoration you feel for him.

You ease up on his cock, moaning into each other's mouth. You fall back down, his dick filling you once more. You maintain a steady pace up and down on him, using his shoulder as leverage.

He breaks the kiss, allowing his hand to wander into your hair. He gently tugs on the strands at the base of your scalp to angle your head upwards. His mouth finds your neck like a magnet, kissing and licking the soft flesh.

Your hips roll at the pace of his languid kisses on your neck. Your greedy pussy is taking every delectable inch of him, drawing him in deep. Bucky groans against your throat, sending vibrations through you.

He caresses his way down your body, letting your hair fall as he trails his fingers over your thigh. Your hips pick up speed, riding him quicker. His forehead rests against your chest due to the sudden change of pace.

“Doll-” he drawls. “You feel incredible.”

Bucky licks a line up your sternum as his metal hand glides up your side. His touch is feather-light on your breast, a cool sensation sweeping over your nipple. His mouth moves to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along the opposite breast. 

He eventually finds your nipple with his mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. He latches onto it, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. You arch into him, a lewd noise escaping your parted lips.

He palms at the other breast, massaging and swiping his thumb over the delicate skin. The pleasure you’re feeling from his skilled tongue only spurs you on, and it drives you to ride him faster, harder, and deeper.

He grunts and bites your nipple. Your mind feels overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. Has sex always been this magical? Not for you, at least. 

Bucky is the missing piece you’ve been searching for, not just because of the sex, but because of everything he brings to your life. The sex is incredible because he is incredible. It’s that simple.

“Just like that. Fuck—you’re doing so good.” He mumbles in between kisses as he trails over to your opposite breast. His metal hand moves back to your hip to help guide your movements.

He backs away from your chest when he knows he’s given equal attention to each of your breasts. He concentrates on your face, observing the way your lips part and the sounds that flow from them.

His fingers dig into your thigh as he begins to massage it. Bucky kneads the pliable skin, moving up and down the flesh until he’s squeezing your ass. With the leverage he has, he bucks up into you with the same rhythm you set. 

Your voice breaks into a guttural moan as he pulls you down forcefully onto his cock. You continue to match his tempo, but your hip movements are becoming more erratic.

“Let me take over, darlin’.” He groans. “I wanna make you feel good.”

How did you get so lucky to have a man who is more concerned about your pleasure? He makes it his mission to satisfy your every need; you just have to allow him to do so.

You softly smile. “I think you underestimate what your cock is doing to me.”

“Well, let me make you feel even better,” Bucky reiterates. You nod in response and stop your actions.

“Good girl,” he rasps. He scoots to the edge of the couch while still fully inside you. Carefully, he positions your legs to wrap around his hips, and his metal arm covers your torso. Then, he effortlessly picks you up as if you weigh nothing and begins moving across the apartment.

You cling to him, though you know he would never let you fall. He steps into his room and gingerly sets you down on the end of the bed. Leaning over you, he kisses the tip of your nose, causing you to giggle.

“You didn’t want to fuck me on your couch?” You tease.

“No,” he lowers his mouth to your ear and growls, “because you’re not some random hook up.”

Bucky punctuates that statement by slamming his dick into you. You whine and squirm beneath him. He inclines back and clutches your hips, thrusting into you at an unrelenting pace. You throw your head back against the mattress because he was right, this is even better.

He’s touching parts inside of you that you never knew existed. Your legs tighten around him as you reach for his neck, craving the sensation of him beneath your fingertips. His gaze is locked on you, and his eyes sparkle with a desperate desire to please you.

“Tell me how that feels, doll.” 

“Fucking fantastic.” You breathe, your lungs are working overtime, as he effortlessly drains the oxygen from your chest.

A ghost of a smile appears on his lips; that's exactly what he wanted to hear. Bucky's hand moves down to the underside of your knee. He takes hold of it and lifts it up, so your knee presses into your side. Finding the angle he desired, he pushes into you with renewed purpose.

You arch your back, and you wail when he hits that sweet spot deep inside of you. The head of his cock pounds against your g-spot repeatedly, reducing you to a writhing and whimpering mess.

He’s bringing you to the edge, and it’s happening quickly. The pressure is rising within you like a tidal wave, and you feel like you might drown in it. Your senses seem heightened, and Bucky is surrounding you, integrating himself into every one of them.

“James–” His name feels like a prayer on your lips.

“I know you’re close, pretty girl. Let me get you there.” His metal hand reaches between your bodies and his thumb rubs tight circles into your clit. 

Your cunt instantly clamps down on his dick and you moan loudly. You were already close, but now you’re teetering on the edge. Your free hand fists the sheets, and your thighs begin to shake.

“I’ve got you, darlin’. Let go. I’ll be right behind you.” His words drift over you like steam rising from a hot spring, warm and enticing.

Your body obeys immediately, your orgasm hitting you like a tsunami. The pressure coiled in your stomach releases and your pussy clenches hard around him in waves. You scream out in a breathless cry, your grip tightening on his neck as you tug him closer.

You’re a shuddering, aching mess under him. Your eyes are sewn shut, and you feel as though you’re floating. A wave of euphoria washes over you, leaving you high on the sensation.

Bucky presses his forehead to yours, whispering your name like a mantra. He grabs both your hips again, as if afraid you'll slip away.

His cock proceeds to ram into your pulsating cunt, working you through your climax until he’s twitching inside you. His cum spills deeply into you with a low groan from his lips. He’s coating your walls and warming your core with the thick liquid.

His hips come to a stop, and his head rests in the crook of your neck. Bucky wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. You lazily fold your arms over him, holding him as if you never want to let go. He nuzzles into your hair, inhaling your scent. You gently scratch his upper back, relishing the intimacy of the moment.

“You’re unbelievable.” He mutters right below your ear. “You’re real, right? This isn’t a dream?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yes, I’m very real, honey.” You kiss his shoulder softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky hums contentedly and leans back, gently slipping out of you. “Good.”

He strolls away from the bed and into the bathroom, turning on the light. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. The sound of running water becomes audible, though you can’t see it.

He returns with a damp washcloth and completes his thought. “I’m holding you hostage.”

You’re smiling broadly. “I don’t believe this is a hostage situation if I’m here willingly.”

“Are you sure you don’t already have Stockholm syndrome?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

You chuckle and shake your head as he moves closer. He opens your legs and steps between them to wipe down your inner thighs, gently gliding his hand over your dripping cunt.

The sight gives you a warm feeling, knowing this isn’t the last time Bucky will take care of you. “Well, aren’t you the king of aftercare?” you joke.

“I can't leave my pretty girl in a mess, especially since I'm the one who made it.” Once he's finished, he tosses the dirty rag into his hamper and lies down beside you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close into his embrace.

You hum in contentment, burying your head into his chest. “I have a sneaky suspicion this won’t be the only mess we make tonight.”

Bucky squeezes you, running his hand through your hair to cradle your head. “I think you read my mind.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The door clicks softly behind Bucky as he treads carefully through the hall. His heavy boots thud against the floor, so he decides to take them off at the door to avoid waking you from sleep.

He changes out of his tactical gear and puts on a pair of sleep shorts. Gingerly, he moves the blanket aside to crawl in beside you. You are facing the opposite direction, and your light breathing indicates that you are still asleep.

Bucky wraps his arms around you and kisses your shoulder, unable to help himself. You stir slightly, resting your arms over his and melting into him. 

“Where’d you go?” Your sleepy voice breaks the quiet.

His chest warms at the adorable sound as he whispers against your neck, “I had some business to take care of.”

You hum and snuggle into the pillow, settling back into a relaxed state. Suddenly, your head pops up, and you peek over your shoulder at him. “James, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Bucky retorts.

You let out a heavy sigh; it's clear you know he's lying. You kick off the covers and hop out of bed, moving toward his closet. He ogles your naked form; fuck, he wants to take you again.

You grab a random shirt from a hanger and slip it on. Turning to face him, you cross your arms over your chest with a blank expression. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

It's as if you see right through him. One glance into his eyes reveals exactly where he's been and what he's done.

“What? I’m fine. Come back to bed.” He pats the spot next to him.

You narrow your gaze at him, and your expression says it all: you don’t want to make me mad, James.

“Okay, okay.” Bucky points to the bathroom. “Cabinet. Top shelf.”

You practically stomp to the bathroom. He hears the sound of you rummaging around, and you exit with the opened first-aid kit in hand. You set it on his nightstand and search through it.

“Sit up,” you command in a surprisingly authoritative tone.

He smirks and does as you instructed him. “Always tellin-”

You hold up a finger, stopping him. “Not the time.”

“Don’t be upset.” He mutters.

Your shoulders, once tense, relax as you shake your head. “I’m not upset.” Your voice is softer and more gentle now.

“Then what’s wrong, doll?” Of course, he knows what’s bothering you, but he doesn’t seem to want to admit it. You haven’t seen this side of him; he’s afraid that because you have, you might leave.

“You paid Derek a visit, didn’t you?”

Bucky nods stiffly. “I did.”

You rub your forehead with your thumb and pointer finger. “Do I have to help you hide a body?”

“No.” He states simply.

You let your hand fall to your side now that you have confirmation that no murders occurred tonight. You point to his bloody and bruised knuckles and say, "If your hand is any indication, you beat the shit out of him."

“He got what he deserved. I actually let him off easy,” he grumbles, wishing he had done more to the bastard. He didn't use his metal arm; that was an act of mercy. Now he's regretting that decision.

“That’s not the point.” You release a long breath. “What if someone saw? Or worse, what if he talks? Your job could be in jeopardy.” You give him a worried expression.

“No one saw, and I doubt he’ll be saying much, if anything at all.” Bucky’s mind drifts back to the condition he left Derek in. His face was swollen, bloody, and bruised. Yup, he won’t be talking for a while; I made sure of that.

“Not helping.” You scold.

"Listen, nothing is more important than you. I would gladly lose my job if it meant keeping you safe." Your expression softens at his words, and he continues, knowing he has your full attention. “That asshole doesn’t get to speak to you like that, and get off scot-free.”

Bucky adjusts his tone to be light and caring as he takes your hand in both of his—flesh and metal. “I will always protect you. You never have to doubt that.” 

After a beat of silence, your lips curve into a smile. “Okay.”

He quirks a brow. “Okay? That’s it, no more arguing?”

“What’s there to argue about?” You shrug. “Like you said, the asshole got what he deserved.”

He returns your sweet grin and kisses your hand gently before letting it go. You bite your lip and turn around to search in the medical kit. Grabbing an antiseptic wipe, you extend your hand toward him. "Now, let me clean you up, honey."

“Yes, ma'am.” He offers his hand willingly. You clean the blood from his knuckles, scrubbing deep into the grooves between his fingers.

“Did Derek at least cry?” you inquire, tilting your head as you examine his wounds.

“Like a baby,” he replies. You snort as you toss the dirty wipe into his trash can. Taking out some ointment from the kit, you apply it to the sores on his skin. He doesn't really need it since he’s a super soldier with rapid healing, but he lets you do it anyway because he appreciates the way you care for him.

“He apologized, by the way,” he adds. “At least, I think he did. I couldn’t understand him through all the blood in his mouth.”

"Bucky," you scoff, but then you break into laughter. "That's awful."

He wants to laugh with you, but is caught off guard when you call him by his nickname. He’s never heard you say it before, and it sounds so pleasant to him. You put away the ointment, and then he grabs your wrist. You whip your head around to meet his gaze.

“Say that again.” His voice is low and rough.

You furrow your brows in confusion but then understand his meaning, and your expression softens.

“Oh,” you shift to face him, your voice becoming seductive and breathy. “Bucky.”

He basically melts; his lips part, and all his muscles loosen up. “Again. Slower. I like the way it sounds.”

You giggle and gently cup his face in your hands, obeying his request. “Bucky…” You lean down and press a lingering kiss to his forehead. His eyes flutter closed; he believes he has died and gone to heaven, with you as the angel welcoming him at the pearly gates.

You lean back, and he looks up at you with hooded eyes. “Alright, my hero,” you murmur. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Bucky's face is etched with amusement as you utter the words ‘my hero’. He has never been called that, nor has he felt like much of a hero anyway. But honestly, that word wouldn’t matter if it came from anyone else because he only ever wants to save you.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.”

[lonerslug]

The bath was over. Your skin was pink, your limbs jelly. You were freshly cleaned, warm and wobbly, and Sevika carried you straight out of the tub, towel-dried your body like you were helpless, and now you were lying facedown on the bed.

Naked. Wet hair. Whimpering into the pillow.

“Mmhm,” Sevika murmured, climbing up behind you. “So now you’re quiet?”

You huffed. “I’m recovering. You fucked the hell outta me.”

“You’re still dramatic.”

“And you’re still not sorry.”

She snorted. “I literally carried you out the tub like a princess.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I have spaghetti legs from all the orgasms you forced outta me.”

“That’s not how forcing works, baby.”

You grumbled. She laughed.

And then, click.

You lifted your head. “What was that?”

“don’t tell me you’re putting on a strap now..” you added

She held up a lotion bottle. Smirked. “Turn over.”

“…Why.”

“I’m moisturizing you.”

You blinked. “That’s intimate.”

“Shut up and roll over.”

You did. Dramatically.

And then gasped when her cold hands met your thighs.

“hey, it’s cold!”

“Quit whining.”

Her hands slid up, smoothing lotion over your legs, then your hips, slow and firm. She knew exactly where to press, massaging in with her thumbs, strong fingers digging just enough to make your muscles melt. Up your sides, across your belly, over your arms.

She was careful with your small tits, brushed her knuckles along them teasingly, grinning when you arched up into the touch like a spoiled little brat.

“You’re so needy,” she muttered.

“You like it.”

“eh, I do.”

When she was done, she helped you up, kissed your cheek, and handed you one of her old tank tops. faded dark navy. A little stretched out. Stolen from her old drawer.

she pulled it over your head and,

damn

It was tight.

Like… skin-tight.

It clung to your tits like they were trying to bust out of it, your hard nipples clearly visible through the soft fabric. The hem barely covered your ribs.

“Sevika,” you whispered. “This is so small.”

“Yeah,” she said, staring openly. “I was sixteen. That thing’s vintage.”

“I look like a slut.”

“You look like a problem.”

You looked behind and said, “Omg.. this is strangling my tits.”

“…what tits?” she chuckled.

you gave her the NASTIEST side eye ever. “you are a bitch!!”

then she sat back after you flipped her off, lips parted, watching you adjust the fabric over your chest. Her eyes dropped lower. You hadn’t put on shorts.

Just lace panties.

Black. Thin. A little sheer. Framing your soft thighs and still-flushed skin like a gift.

Sevika’s jaw tensed.

You blinked innocently. “What?”

She dragged a hand down her face. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I’m literally recovering from trauma.”

She gave you a look. “Trauma.”

“hey, your tits traumatised me.” (u were just suckin on them 😇)

“I will bite you.”

You giggled, crawling into her lap, legs straddling her hips, your tiny tank top bunching at your waist. Your small tits brushed against her chest and you grinned smugly when her breath hitched.

“Am I forgiven yet?” you whispered, arms wrapping around her neck. “You got to punish me, make me cum, bathe me, lotion me up… all that’s missing is praise.”

Her hands gripped your waist.

Her eyes? Dark.

“You want praise now?” she murmured, low and dangerous. “After all that?”

You nodded slowly. “Just a little.”

Her lips brushed your neck.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered. “Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

You shivered.

“Look so fucking good in my shirt,” she added, voice deepening. “You think you’re teasing me. But you’re driving me insane.”

You smiled against her mouth.

“Mm. Then let me be your problem.”

this might be the sequel to this fic 🤭🤭

↪️ reblogs are appreciated!!

masterlist check this out??

taglist: @amri0ram @thehoneybeestings @georgiahs-stuff @mistershotz @mommyissuesismypersonality @sapphicstrawcore @sevikaswinkinghole @shanesevikasfuckdoll @sevikas-whore @shxdy0ariia @illbecanon

[rhettrosunsets]

Porch Swings And Promises - Rhett Abbott X Fem! Reader

Pairing: Rhett Abbott X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, Slight Angst

Summary: A warm summer evening in Wabang and a porch swing leads Rhett to having a realization while he holds his four year old daughter.

Masterlist

Word count: 622

Warnings: No use of Y/N, no description of reader, Rhett doubting himself as a parent, mentions of your daughter being a surprise, mentions of Rhett's own upbringing.

Notes: Kind of want to make this a little series with reader and Rhett's backstory, how they met, when they found out they where having their daughter, their wedding, etc if anyone would be interested in that. 🤔

The porch swing creaked softly under Rhett’s weight as he gently rocked back and forth, 

The Wyoming sunset painted a hue of soft oranges and pinks across the sky on the clear summer evening. And on his chest bundled in her softest unicorn pajama set and her hair still partly damp from her bath laid your four year old daughter, her tiny hand curled into his worn flannel shirt.

He had one arm wrapped around her back, the other cradling the back of her head like he did when she was still just a new-born.

"You gettin’ sleepy, Sunshine?" he murmured against her temple. She made a soft humming noise instead of answering him, just nestling closer to him, her cheek pressed right over his heart. Something she’s done from the minute he held her for the first time.

Rhett exhaled softly, one hand moving in gentle soothing strokes down her tiny back. His fingers were calloused from years of ranch work and rodeo rides but they were always gentle when it came to you and her.

“You know” he said softly looking up, almost more like he was talking to the sky rather than to her “I was real’ scared when I found out I was gonna be your dad. You were quite a shock to your momma and I.”

The wind blew softly, just enough to create a light breeze causing your daughter to curl even closer to Rhett's chest. While inside your home, the floor creaked as you moved through the kitchen, letting them have their moment together seeing the soft sight through the window as you sipped your tea with a soft knowing smile, quickly taking a photo with your phone.

“I didn’t really grow up knowin’ how to be soft,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her just a little “I didn’t know how to show love the right way and I didn’t think I’d ever be good at this. Your momma had to tell me over and over that she was confident I could do this, and it took me a long while to truly believe her..”

Your daughter blinked up at him with sleepy widened eyes, small and confused as she responds. “You are good at it, Daddy.” Rhett’s heart melted a bit at her sleepy reply as he kissed her forehead, before resting his chin atop her small head “You think so, Princess?”

She nodded firmly, her face determined despite her prior tiredness. “You make me pancakes with smiley faces and you sing the princess songs with me and mommy on movie nights. And, and you always check my closet for monsters, which makes you super brave.”

He let out a breathless chuckle, the kind that made his shoulders shake. “I’m glad you think so Princess.”

She snuggled closer and looked up at him with her eyes that she got from you, before muttering a soft “You’re the best daddy ever"

And well that, that undid him completely. It wasn't in a loud way, and not through tears either, but in the way he went quiet as he blinked up at the darkening sky as if trying to send up a prayer of gratitude for how grateful he was for you and your daughter. She was asleep before the stars came out, her little hand still fisted in the plaid fabric over his heart.

And Rhett sat there more in love with his tiny daughter and you than he’d ever thought possible. He promised himself that he’d do better than what he had, you two deserved the world and he’d try to give it to you. He promised that he’d love you two gently, and in the ways that his girls always deserved, Forever.

[facesofdropout]

-Yeah, give me a womannequin. (laughing)

[agentsreblogs]

Oooofff. This hurts, but there's still so much sweetness in it. I love how you depicted it. And, of course, how the final sentence doesn't seem to be about the objects at all.

Thank you for sharing!

Dean dreams of the lake often. It's a peaceful place that exists in an eternal mid-afternoon, full of warm and gentle sunlight. He always sits on a chair at the end of the little wooden pier, fishing rod in one hand, beer in the other, and feels all the pressures of the waking world fade away.

(Dean's embarrassed to admit that it's his favourite dream.)

But now, ever since that first time Cas did his freaky Dreamwalking thing, he pops in sometimes too. At first Dean tells him to get out and let him fish in peace, but secretly he's glad that Cas keeps coming back. It's kinda nice to have the company.

After a while, another chair appears at the end of the pier.

"Make yourself at home why don't ya," Dean says, rolling his eyes.

"I didn't dream it here," Cas replies gently, sitting down in the new chair beside Dean. "You did."

A little while after that a second fishing rod appears next to the chair. Another beer bottle in the cooler.

Whenever Dean has The Lake Dream it's never long before Cas joins him. Sometimes they don't speak much, sometimes not at all, and sometimes they talk and talk and Dean wakes up feeling even more tired than before. (He feels happy though. He always wakes up smiling.)

Eventually the chairs draw closer together.

Cas asks him why he doesn't dream any fish into the lake, but Dean just shrugs and says that the fish being there isn't the point. Cas stares at him and tilts his head like he doesn't get it. Dean isn't going to explain.

The night after Cas confesses his truth and sacrifices himself, when Dean finally falls into an exhausted, drunken sleep, clutching the bloody handprint close - the chair beside him remains empty. The sunlight has gone, the lake churns dark and deep, and the second fishing rod sits abandoned, propped up against the empty chair.

Dean throws the rod into the lake, kicks the chair in after it, and collapses onto the pier, sobbing alone.

They hadn't even made a splash. Just disappeared like they'd never been there at all.

[sanotymanjiro]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 ☾⋆⁺₊✩°｡

𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙞

𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩

soft, fluff, mild swearing

⛲️ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you loved rindou like no other but you also loved his bed so days like this crashing in his room while he games weren’t uncommon between the two of you, it was anything but that. your boyfriend was usually loud whenever he streamed but when you were asleep he would be quiet as a mouse, the usual loud hysterical rindou nowhere to be found and if his friends got suspicious he only fed those suspicions because of course he had to gloat unabashedly, you were his girl after all.

rindou: you guys wanna see? nah, not unless you promise to shut the fuck up for the rest of the stream, my girl needs her beauty sleep.

only after making every single profile beg down on one knee figuratively would rindou use his free hand to slowly turn the computer so that the camera would fit only a glimpse of your sleeping form into its lens, the cocky little smirk still dancing along his lips as he watches the envious comments flooding in along with his friends' 'awww's echoing through his headphones causing his ego to erupt. rindou would then turn the camera back to his face and stick his tongue out saying that's all they get resulting in a hoard of commends begging once more. rindou loved to show you off and of course it would only blow his ego out of proportion but he was equally adoring even when it was just you and him, no stream audience watching.

when rindou would hear you start to stir he would quickly think up an excuse to get up for a few minutes, not because he didn't want them knowing about you, as we already covered he clearly does, but because he wants you all to himself for a bit so he'd turn off his mic and camera before taking gentle featherlight steps toward the bed and rest on the edge of it, making sure not to disturb you as his fingers thread through your soft hair brushing it out of that pretty face for him to see. eventually you would peek an eye open and hum sleepily opening your arms and without even glancing back at the exploding comments asking where he is, he would slide right into your embrace, long warm arms reaching round to gather you into his chest, a singular streak of warm fluffy sunlight cracking through the gap in the curtains illuminating the otherwise pitch black room just enough for him to be able to worship your features before speaking in a low rumble that seems to come deep from inside his throat.

rindou: mm, so cute..

you tilt your head peeking an eye open to look at the dual toned hair, the grey-purplish orbs with love dancing round in circles inside them, the softest smile rindou could muster only for moments like these when you were alone together, moments like these, where his soft pink lips would ghost your temple so tenderly, where rindou's eyes finally gave full attention to something other than his game or his gang fights, simply because it was you.

y/n: rin rin..?

rindou: hmm?

y/n, already drifting back into sleep's arms: ..ur stream over..?

rindou: mm, it is.

it was a lie, the stream was still very much going and his friends were cursing him out or making conspiracies about how he ran out of toilet paper and didn't want to wake you, all which would very well be true but he doesn't want to get up because your warm hands were clinging to him so sweetly, your precious sleepy hums every time his hands rubbed a sore spot on your neck, your soft snores when sleep would find you again rindou doesn't want to get up, no matter who or what is waiting, you always come first, you, his treasure.

2025 @sanotymanjiro

[leechqnsgirl]

𓂃۶ৎ switch!euijoo drabble

notes: based off of this ask

18+ | switch!euijoo x switch!reader | wc: 195 | masterlist

****

your boyfriend took in a breathe when he bottomed out inside you, his hands holding your hips.

"fuck." you felt so perfect around him, your gummy walls gripping his cock tight. "so warm baby," he moaned, starting to move his hips. sliding himself in and out.

he leans down, pressing a mouth against your tit. god, he loved them. he whined against your chest, doing his best to keep going. you just felt so good, his brain goes dumb when he's in you.

your hand settled on the back of his neck, grabbing onto the short hairs. "j-juju?" he moaned in response, his hips faltering.

the hand in his hair pulled, he gasped when he realized how close he was to your face now.

"mm, you're so dumb, aren't you?" you teased him, bucking your hips up to his cock. "you always wanna try to be so big, so in control but you can't." he whimpered, shaking his head.

"n-no!" he tried to straighten himself up, he tried to regain himself but he just couldn't. he felt so gone whenever he'd feel your tight cunt grip onto him.

"oh yeah? why don't you show me."

[barnesonly]

I loved Bucky and his dog tags sm

Can we get more of Bucky and his dog tags?😭

OHH YESS the dog tags are such a fucking turn on for me. I literally—literally—cannot stop thinking about tfatws bucky with his precious dog tags on my neck so…

The chilled metal of Bucky’s dog tags rests heavy between your collarbones, swinging with every needy breath you take. He’d slipped them over your neck earlier with a wicked smirk, murmuring something about how good you’d look in them, and now you understand exactly what he meant.

“You like that, baby?” he growls low against your ear, one vibranium palm splayed possessively across your hip as the other hooks into the chain.

Your back arches as the smooth links tighten just enough to make your pulse jump. The sound of the tags clinking together is loud in the quiet room, and it only fuels the ache between your legs.

“Yes,” you gasp, hands reaching back blindly to grip his thighs.

He presses in deeper, his chest to your back as he rocks into you, the perfect weight and strength making you whimper.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, tugging the chain again, just hard enough to leave you dizzy with need. “Mine, you hear me?Every inch of you.”

Your eyes flutter closed as he holds you like that— grounded by him, breathless and safe all at once—and you give yourself over to the feeling completely.

“You like when I choke you with my tags, huh?” Bucky’s voice is a dark rumble against your ear, his grip on the chain firm but careful as he snaps his hips into you again.

You moan, head tipping back into his shoulder, and the chilled tags press into the hollow of your throat as he tightens them just a little more.

“Answer me,” he growls, his vibranium hand gripping your hip so tightly you know you’ll wear the marks tomorrow.

“Y-yes, Bucky,” you breathe, dizzy with pleasure, cunt clenching around him when he rolls his hips and drives deeper.

“Good,” he hisses, lips dragging along your neck as his rhythm becomes brutal, deep thrusts making you gasp. Every powerful stroke drags you closer to the edge, your hands scrambling at the sheets, the tension of the chain making you lightheaded in the most delicious way.

“You take me so fucking well,” he rasps, and then his lips are on your jaw, teeth grazing your skin before he leans back just enough to look at you. Eyes blown dark with lust, lips parted, he tugs the tags again as he pounds into you.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby,” he orders, breaths harsh. “Wanna see you come like this.”

And with one last measured pull on the chain and a deep, filthy thrust, you’re crying out his name as your orgasm rips through you—his hands never leaving you, his tags marking you as his.

[borderlineex]

₊˚⊹౨ sunflowers and warm mornings ৎ ₊˚⊹

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹clark kent x reader

a/n: this is pure fluff soo i hope you enjoy!! c:

You were used to quiet mornings at the Kent farm. The scent of fresh hay mixed with coffee always found a way into your nose before you even opened your eyes. But this morning, something was different. You blinked sleepily and turned over in bed, only to find a note tucked beside your pillow. In Clark’s neat, unmistakably earnest handwriting:

“Morning, sleepyhead. Come to the barn. Bring your smile. -C”

A slow, goofy grin tugged at your lips. Throwing on your favourite cardigan, you padded barefoot across the warm wooden floor and headed outside. The morning sunlight danced on the dewy grass as you made your way to the barn, where you found Clark standing in front of a makeshift breakfast spread: a thick blanket, thermos of coffee, and a basket of warm muffins from Mrs. Kent’s recipe.

“You did all this?” you asked, voice still rough with sleep.

Clark turned around with that boyish smile. “Told you I had super-speed. Thought maybe I’d use it for something important—like getting blueberry muffins from the oven to your stomach in under five minutes.”

You laughed and walked into his arms without hesitation. He pulled you in close, wrapping you in the warmth of his flannel and the gentle strength that somehow never made you feel small—just safe.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he murmured against your hair. “You’ve been working so hard lately. Thought maybe a slow morning would be nice.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze—those soft blue eyes, the ones that always looked at you like you were something worth saving, even when you didn’t feel that way.

“This is perfect,” you whispered.

After breakfast, Clark took your hand and guided you behind the barn, where he’d set up a hammock between two old oak trees. You climbed in together, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and the rustle of leaves above.

"You know," you mumbled, "when I first met you, I thought you were just the shy farm boy with the unfairly pretty face.”

Clark chuckled. “And now?”

“Now I know you’re also the world’s biggest softie.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He kissed the top of your head and pulled the blanket tighter around you both. As the morning faded into afternoon, and the sunflowers behind the barn turned toward the light, you both lay in peaceful silence—until Clark whispered, “Let’s stay here forever.”

You looked up at him, nose crinkling. “In the hammock?”

“No.” He smiled. “In this life. You and me. Just like this.”

Your heart swelled so much it felt like it might float away. You didn’t need elaborate dates or expensive gifts. You had Clark, and that was enough.

[pankowcrumbs]

I heard husbands have a hard time loving and bounding with the child if the childbirth was traumatic.

Can I ask for Joseph Quinn x reader where she gave birth to their first but both pregnancy and birth was very hard and traumatic. He's helping y/n getting back to health as his mom helps with baby. One sleepless night y/n finds herself alone in bed. Struggling, she gets up to find Joseph sitting in baby's room just looking at his firstborn. He doesn't notice her at first. She asks if he's ok and he hugs her, he's shivering. He confesses he doesn't like their child for all complications it caused and it makes him feeling like a bad person, he also asks y/n for forgiveness she had to go through all that and says he understands if she doesn't love him anymore. Y/N reassures him of her love. She sits next to him and tells him his emotions are valid and that she noticed he wasn't much himself lately. Baby wakes up and she asks Joseph to hold the firstborn but he refuses. As days pass he helps more and more. One day y/n and Joseph are sitting in one room. As he feeds baby firstborn smile at him and moves its little hands. Joseph cries, because he understands baby loves him. Y/N tells him if she'd have to go through this again she would because it was all worth it.

MasterList

Joseph Quinn Masterlist

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

The birth nearly broke me.

No poetic way around it just the cold, sharp truth. Thirty-two hours of labour. Emergency C-section. Blood loss. Silence before the baby cried. Pain that clung to my body long after the stitches were healed.

Everyone said, "But you're both okay now." I wasn’t. Not really.

And neither was Joseph.

I think we both expected it to feel different. That when she was placed in my arms our daughter there’d be some wave of euphoria. That everything would make sense. That we’d cry, kiss, be flooded with joy.

Instead, I felt lightheaded and afraid. I didn’t even see Joseph hold her for the first time I was unconscious by then.

We’d been home a few weeks. His mum stayed with us, bless her, taking the night shifts, changing nappies while I lay still, trying not to fall apart. Joseph helped me wash my hair, guided me to the loo, rubbed my back through tears I didn’t let him see.

We hadn’t slept in the same bed properly since. Not out of distance, just… logistics. Exhaustion. His mum had the baby in the guest room. I stayed mostly in ours, trying to heal.

One night, I woke up to an empty bed.

It was 3:12 AM.

The sheets beside me were cold, undisturbed. Joseph hadn’t come to bed at all.

I pushed myself upright wincing and padded slowly through the quiet house.

There was a soft, golden light coming from the nursery.

The door was ajar.

I peeked in.

And there he was.

Joseph, sitting in the rocking chair. Hair dishevelled, hoodie bunched up around his shoulders. Elbows on his knees. Hands clasped. Staring at the crib like it held something fragile and foreign.

He didn’t hear me.

“Joe?”

He jumped slightly, head snapping toward me.

I took a few slow steps in. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood, walked across the room, and pulled me into his arms.

He was shaking.

I held onto him tightly, one hand at the nape of his neck. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m...” he choked out, “I’m not okay.”

“Alright,” I whispered, “we’ll figure it out.”

He pulled back, eyes glassy. “I don't think I like her.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I know how awful that sounds. I know,” he said, voice cracking. “But every time I look at her, all I see is you in that hospital bed. Wires. Blood. I thought I was going to lose you.”

My heart twisted.

“I wanted to be happy,” he went on, “but instead I feel… angry. Resentful. Scared. And I hate myself for it. I hate that I can’t look at her without remembering that.”

I didn’t speak. Not yet.

He continued, “And I’m sorry. For all of it. For what you went through. You were so strong and I couldn’t protect you. I was useless. I keep thinking, what if you never forgave me for getting you into that situation?”

“Joseph.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t love me anymore.”

I put my hand on his chest. “Look at me.”

He did.

“I love you,” I said softly. “Even now. Especially now.”

He collapsed into the chair, head in his hands. I sat beside him on the floor, resting my head against his knee.

“It’s okay to feel this way,” I said after a moment. “You’ve gone through something traumatic too. Just because you weren’t the one in the bed doesn’t mean you weren’t hurting.”

“I don’t want to resent her,” he whispered.

“You won’t. Not forever. But it’s okay if it takes time.”

She stirred softly in her crib. A tiny breath. A twitch of her hand.

“Do you want to hold her?” I asked gently.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

I nodded. “That’s okay.”

The days that followed were quiet.

Joseph cooked breakfast again. He helped me shower. He sat beside his mum while she rocked the baby, asked questions. How much does she need to eat? How do I hold her head? What does that sound mean? Small steps. Gentle ones.

But I noticed he’d still avoid being alone with her.

And I didn’t push.

A week later, I came into the living room with tea, only to find Joseph sat on the rug, legs crossed, bottle in hand.

Our daughter was in his lap.

Feeding.

He was completely still, like if he moved, the moment would end.

She looked up at him. Big, blue-grey eyes blinking slowly. Her tiny fingers stretched out, brushing his jumper. And then, the faintest smile.

He let out a sound choked and soft.

A single tear slid down his cheek.

“She smiled at me,” he said, barely a whisper.

I knelt beside him. Wrapped my arm around his shoulders.

“She loves you,” I said.

He turned to look at me, eyes rimmed red. “Even after everything?”

“She doesn’t remember the hospital, Joe. She only knows your voice. The warmth of you. You singing to her while making coffee. You carrying me to bed when I couldn’t stand. She knows you. And she loves you.”

He looked back down at her, who had now fallen asleep mid-bottle.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at this,” he admitted.

“You’re better than you know.”

He smiled. It was tired, fragile but real.

That night, we put her down together.

She settled quickly. Like she knew we were both there now. Like something had fallen into place.

Back in bed, Joseph wrapped his arms around me, burying his face into the crook of my neck.

“I was so scared I’d lost you,” he murmured.

“You didn’t.”

“You’re still here.”

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

A beat.

“If we had to do it all again,” I said softly, “I would.”

He pulled back slightly, brow furrowed. “You would?”

“Even knowing what it cost. Even knowing how much it hurt. Because she was worth it. You were worth it. This family we’re building? I’d walk through fire again for it.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just kissed me. Long and slow. With the kind of reverence that only comes from breaking and rebuilding.

We fell asleep like that his hand on my belly, mine on his chest, and the silence between us no longer heavy, but full of something softer.

Healing.

[randomfandomworks]

You pushed the eyeshadow palette to the side as Rumi laid below you, watching you decide on what to do next. You’d been bugging her for a while now about designing her show makeup and it was on this dull day in the middle of their break that she had finally agreed.

It wasn’t professional, or high effort, it was simply an idol and her partner sprawled out in bed. The weight of your chest laid on hers, your elbows propping you up just enough to look down at her as you created your masterpiece. You placed some blush to her cheeks, a light dust of color to finish off what you’d been working so hard on.

You set the blush aside, readjusting your weight to look down at Rumi once more, your eyes wandering over her features to take in what you had created. Halfway through your observations you stopped, your gaze lingering on her patterns. Slowly you brought your hand up, brushing your fingers over the patterns that spread across her forehead. Your eyes traced the movement memorizing the shape as your fingers ran along her skin.

“I’m glad you don’t cover them up.” You spoke softly, your fingers moving further up to tuck back some of her loose hairs.

She looked at you silently for a moment, watching you focus, holding onto the gentleness within your stare. “Yeah?” She responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, bringing your hand down to cup her cheek, “Yeah.” You finalized meeting her gaze.

A warmth settled in her chest, something about you, your acceptance of what she’d tried to hide for so long, made her fall even harder for you.

And maybe, she thought after a moment, you’d have to do her makeup more often.